


Wild Geese

by bells_n_roses



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Arranged Marriage, Angst, Arranged Marriage, F/F, Fake Marriage, Fluff, Gay, Lord President!Doctor, Mutual Pining, Sapphic, The Doctor needs a hug, slowburn if I have the patience, so does Yaz
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-23
Updated: 2020-12-25
Packaged: 2021-02-28 23:40:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 18
Words: 41,196
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23265595
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bells_n_roses/pseuds/bells_n_roses
Summary: The first time Yaz meets the Doctor, it's accidental. Nice enough, sure, but Yaz doesn't expect to see the stranger again. After the Time War comes to Earth, however, she finds herself forced into an unusual and precarious relationship, where one wrong move could spell the end for her and her entire family.Yes, this is an arranged marriage au, and no, I don't have any shame.
Relationships: Thirteenth Doctor/Yasmin Khan
Comments: 157
Kudos: 180





	1. Chapter 1

The morning was crisp and bright and full of promise. It was early in the year, the spring air only just warming up from the cold of winter, and Yaz had stepped outside to fetch water. She carried a bucket in each hand as she walked to the well at the front of the house, humming under her breath. 

The house was a simple wood and brick structure, with only three rooms and an attic, but the land around it stretched on as far as the eye could see. They kept sheep and chickens around the back, as well as grew crops, and there was a small herb garden too. A few feet from the well was a dirt track which led to the village and their neighbours, who -- despite being the closest people to Yaz's family -- lived at least a few miles away.

The sun cast an orange glow over the old stone well and glinted off the water below as Yaz attached one bucket to the chain and began to lower it down. Dawn was always her favourite time of day, when the world was still sleepy and quiet -- it was a time when it seemed like anything was possible. The bucket hit the water with a splash.

As Yaz began the task of pulling the bucket back up, she noticed a horse and cart driving up the track. She stopped what she was doing to get a better look and noticed the supplies heaped in a pile on the back of the cart. Driving the cart was Graham, one of her neighbours. 

"Morning Graham," she called, waving one arm in the air to get his attention.

"Oh 'ullo, Yaz," Graham stopped the cart. 

Yaz held the crank of the well down so it wouldn't move, before she ran over to Graham. The well was near the road, so it only took her a few moments to reach him. 

"What's all this?" Yaz asked. The cart was stacked with bags of grain, fresh vegetables and bales of cloth. Normally Graham would only have a cart this full on market day, which was once a month, but market day wasn't until next week. Yaz's eyebrows knotted together.

"They're paying good money for supplies up in Town, and Lord knows they'll need them."

"They?"

Graham paused and examined her face. The horse below him made a soft whinnying noise. "Didn't you hear?" He looked at her in disbelief. "An army from Gallifrey arrived yesterday. They're preparing for the war to come here."

Yaz's fidgeting stilled. The war? Come here? It can't come here -- not again, Yaz thought.

She placed her hand on the horse and felt its warmth penetrate her cold fingers. "If the soldiers are here it must be serious," she said.

"Looks like it."

"How many are there?"

Graham gave her a small, strained smile. "There's only one squadron stationed in Town, luckily, though there's probably more elsewhere. I think they're still figuring out when the attack will come."

Yaz felt her hand shake as she patted the horse. "Do you think they'll be able to prevent any of them from actually arriving?"

"Eh, you know the Time Lords -- they're a crafty bunch, them lot. They'll sort it." He shrugged and sat back. "I really must be off now, Yaz. Have a good one."

Graham pulled back and clicked his teeth, urging the horse forward. The cart pulled forwards With a jolt and within a minute, he had disappeared round the bend. Yasmin sighed. She still had work to do, but now there was something else to worry about.

***

Later that day, when the sun had fully risen over the hills, Yasmin's mind wandered back to her conversation with Graham. Although he seemed to have faith in the Time Lords' ability, there was an underlying sense of worry in every word he spoke -- the war had claimed so many lives already, and if it had come to their planet then it was unlikely they would come out unscathed. 

Yaz bent over the lavender bush, her back aching. In one hand was a pair of shears, which she was using to cut the herbs to make medicine and her mother's favourite blueberry and lavender jam, while the other held the basket she was carrying the herbs in. Behind her, her mother called out instructions.

"Be careful not to cut too much, Yaz," her mother said. She was cutting thyme from a separate bush, though she tended to all of them usually. 

"I know mum," Yaz replied. She glanced at the Lavender to see how much was left. "How much do we need?"

"About twice as much as you have."

Yaz sighed and bent back over the bush. The midday sun was getting in her eye and she couldn't stop thinking about what Graham had said -- not to mention, her back was aching something rotten. The usually calm day had been marred by an unsettling morning, and as much as Yaz tried not to be worried by the news, she couldn't help but feel tense. 

Eventually, her mother noticed the distraction. "What's wrong with you, then?" She walked over to Yaz, her eyes full with concern.

Yaz paused before she answered, unsure of how to phrase it. "I saw Graham today," she said after a moment. "He was taking supplies into Town, for the Time Lord soldiers that arrived yesterday."

"Time Lord soldiers?"

"Yeah, a whole squadron of them."

Najia's face paled. "If they're moving soldiers that can only mean one thing," she hesitated, as if saying the words was somehow forbidden. "An invasion is coming."

Yasmin nodded. In some ways, she was lucky -- Yaz was too young to remember the early days of the Time War, when Earth had been invaded and nearly destroyed. Najia, however, remembered every bomb and crater, every death inflicted before the Time Lords came in to save the day. There wasn't much of a planet left to save, it was true, but when the Daleks were driven out the Time Lords had swept the Earth into their empire, and until now they had been safe there. 

Najia shivered. Most of humanity had died in the war, and those that were left had been tasked with the almost impossible task of rebuilding. Even though she survived, the life she had grown up living was destroyed and replaced by a life under the rule of the Time Lords, humanity's protector against the Time War. If the war was back, then all of that hardship -- all of that pain --was for nothing. 

"What do we do about it?" Yasmin asked, her voice low.

"There's nothing we can do, not right now. We just have to help the Time Lords when we can." Najia turned away and began to walk briskly away. "I'm going to tell your father."

Yasmin nodded and fought off the urge to swear -- she wanted to help, she wanted to be a part of the solution like her parents had always taught her to. Unfortunately, there wasn't much that some poor, provincial girl could do. As Najia strode out of sight, Yaz kicked the toe of her boot into the ground and, finally, let herself swear.


	2. The Market

Time usually passed slowly in Yaz's house, but after the soldiers arrived everything sped up. It was like all the gears of her life were being turned by electricity instead of clockwork, it was like she was living in fast motion. The week passed in a blur of needlework, outside chores and worried conversations with her family, and soon it was market day.

Yaz woke up early that morning to help her father prepare for the trip into Town. She rose an hour before sunrise and dressed in the dark, her fingers working clumsily to slip on her dress and fasten her boots. Even inside the house it was cold, so Yaz grabbed a shawl before she left and wrapped it around her shoulders. 

Her father was already up and awake outside, with no need to wipe the sleep from his eyes like Yaz. She could barely make him out in the shadowy darkness, but there was just enough moonlight for her to see the glint of his wedding ring on his hand. Hakim stood by the road side, a bag of grain on his shoulders. Carefully, he lowered the bag and turned back to the barn, gesturing for Yaz to follow him.

"We'll take another two bags of grain, as well as a basket of eggs. Do we have any lavender dry enough to sell yet?"

"Some, I'll get them and the eggs." 

Hakim nodded and disappeared into the barn. Shivering, Yaz reentered the house and retrieved the lavender from the kitchen, where it was hanging on hooks. She took a basket to put the bunches in and, as she left, grabbed the basket of eggs she'd collected the day before. When she came back out, the inky blackness of the night and faded to a very dark blue, and she could see her father struggle to haul two sacks of grain to the roadside.

Yaz ran to the road and put down her baskets before she hurried back to her father and took one of his bags. She grunted as the weight hit her back, but it was worth it for the relief she could see on Hakim's face.

Once they had lugged the bags over to the roadside, all they had to do was wait. On market days their neighbour, Graham, would give Hakim a lift in his cart and they would go together, often selling their wares in tandem. Hakim was usually the only member of the family who went, but today Yaz was curious. 

Instead of going back to the house, Yaz stood by her father, her hands clasped in front of her. After a moment of silence, she coughed to get his attention.

"Could I come with you today, Dad?" She asked. "I can help you with bargaining and stuff."

Hakim laughed. "I'm not an old man yet, Yaz, but you can come if you want. I don't see why you want to, though."

"I like the town," Yaz said, with only the hint of a defensive tone in her voice. "I like all its people and things to see -- it's interesting."

There was a long, silent pause while Hakim waited for Yaz to continue. She eyed his stern face and raised eyebrow and decided there really was no point in pretending. 

"I want to see the soldiers, too."

"Ah, I see," Hakim smiled, though the news didn't seem to please him. "I should have known. Of course you'd want to charge straight into whatever mess they've brought with them. You can come, but be careful, Yaz." He turned to place his arms on her shoulders. "Time Lords bring trouble wherever they go."

"Aren't they here to protect us?"

Hakim snorted. "Not out of the goodness of their hearts. It never is with them."

Yaz was just about to open her mouth to respond when a familiar tapping noise rolled over from up the lane. The horse whose hooves the noise belonged to appeared just a moment later, followed by Graham and the cart he sat in. Graham gave them both a cheery wave and slowed down.

"Alright you two?" he asked.

"Yeah, we're good," Hakim lifted a sack up and onto the back of the cart. "What about you?"

"I'm not too bad myself, thanks for asking."

Hakim lifted the second sack over while Yaz laid the baskets carefully on the wooden floor of the cart. The two men continued to talk as Yaz made sure the eggs were secure. She positioned them with a sack on each side of the basket and pushed a few other items behind so they wouldn't jostle too much when the cart rolled forwards. When she was happy with their position, she returned to the men's conversation.

"Is it alright if Yaz comes along today? She wants to see the soldiers," Hakim asked Graham.

Graham grinned. "The more the merrier," he said, and motioned to the back of the cart. 

Yaz smiled her thanks at him before moving to the back. She placed her hands on the edge of the cart and pushed against it to lift herself up, and, with a quick throw of her leg, she clambered into the already well stocked cart. It was full of fruit and vegetables, as well as Graham's usual trade of cloth and rope, though it wasn't as full as usual -- Yaz guessed due to the week's earlier trip -- and along each side was a single wooden bench, nailed to the wall. 

Yaz wove her way through the produce and sat on one of the benches, while her father clambered into the cart and took the other. They both scooted up to the front end of their bench so that they were near the front of the cart, where Graham was steering the horse from.

"You lot ready back there?" He called.

"Yup!" Yaz replied.

"Alright then, off we go." Graham clicked his teeth and the cart lurched forwards with a sudden jolt. Yaz clutched the side of the cart, her knuckles turning white, before the sway of the cart regained its rhythm.

The ride to town was a quiet one, filled with comfortable silence and only the occasional conversation between Hakim and Graham. Yaz tuned most of it out, her head too distracted by thoughts of the army she knew would be in town. As they drove down the road, the sun began to truly peak out from behind the hill, bathing everything in a warm light. Yaz smiled as the air lost its chill and the roadside trees and flowers gained clarity in the improved light — the sun always made her happy. 

The cart slowed down as they approached town. It was small but busy, and to Yaz — who had always lived in the countryside and never been anywhere bigger than town — it was huge. The dirt road had turned into a cobbled street, full of carts and people carrying produce, and there were stalls of fruit and bread set up on the pavement. 

Eventually they reached the thick of the market, where the foot traffic was so dense they had to slow down completely so as not to trample anyone. Graham pulled the cart to a stop with a tug of the reins and a gentle pat to [horse's name] and climbed down from the front. 

"Right, I'm gonna start setting up. Hakim, mind giving me a hand?" He asked.

Hakim nodded and climbed down from his seat on the cart. Yaz followed him, careful not to let her skirt slip as she slid to the ground. While Hakim undid the back of the cart, letting it slide open to give full view of its contents, Yaz began to unload the heavy sacks of grain.

"Yaz, I've got some errands that need running, would you mind doing it?" Hakim said as he took a sack from Yaz's arms. "Your mother gave me a list of things she needs."

"Of course, dad."

Hakim took the small pouch he wore around his waist and untied it, revealing the coins inside. He handed half the contents to Yaz and began to list all the different herbs and necessities Najia had asked for, and the right amounts of each. Yaz listened carefully, her mind replaying each word he said so she wouldn't forget.

She took a spare basket from the cart and, with a quick goodbye to Graham and Hakim, she disappeared into the crowd. 

Yaz was not the kind of person to be easily scared, but she had to admit that the bustling, heaving nature of the market was also not something she was used to. She was surrounded by moving people, by the shouts of market sellers and the smell of different spices. Every step she took led her further into the maze of corn and horses and barrels of beer — it was overwhelming.

Yasmin took a deep breath and soldiered on, determined that she would get everything done so she'd have enough time to try and catch a glimpse of the Time Lords. She wove through the market, mentally repeating the list Hakim had given her.

Twine, soap, salt, metal buttons...

Yaz spotted a stall full of perfumes and nice smelling things and figured it would have at least some of the things she needed. As she approached the stall she noticed the herbs drying from the cloth roof of the stall and the piles of soap blocks wrapped in paper. Bottles of perfume lined the back of the table and behind the counter was a middle aged woman dressed in red and brown. Her hair, like Yasmin's, was tied back with handkerchief, and there was a pair of round glasses perched on the end of her nose. 

"What can I do for you, love?" The woman asked.

"A block of soap, please."

The woman handed her a rectangular block, which was wrapped in beeswax paper, and held out her hand. "That'll be a shilling, please. Can I interest you in any of my wonderful perfumes while you're here? You're certain to turn any boy's head with them."

Yaz shook her head as she paid the woman. "No, thank you."

There was no way she'd ever be able to afford anything so extravagant, no matter how much she might like to. Instead, she turned back into the throng of the market and began to scout out the next item on her list. As she was walking, Yaz took the block of soap out from her basket and raised it to her nose. It smelt lovely — simple and fresh, nothing fancy, and familiar more than anything else.

Just then, a woman pushed her way past Yaz, nearly knocking her over. The soap flew from Yaz's hands and landed on the ground, and Yaz was about to follow it when a pair of strong hands grabbed her by the waist.

"So sorry about that, I wasn't looking where I was going," the stranger said as she pulled Yaz back to her feet. "I'm just in such a rush, they're serving lunch back at the base in five minutes and—"

Yaz stared at the stranger, her heart still pounding. The stranger was fairly tall, with jaw length blonde hair and bright eyes. She wore a long coat and a blue military uniform, paired with worn brown boots and a earring which hung from the top of her ear to the bottom. Yaz had never seen anyone even similar to the stranger.

"Oh, is that yours?" The woman took her hand off Yaz's waist and gestured at the soap, which had been trodden into the ground.

Yaz nodded.

"Ah, I'm so sorry, let me get you a new one." The woman took Yaz's hand and began to walk.

"It's fine," Yaz said with a laugh. "No harm done."

"Nonsense, I just need to find the stall."

Yaz followed the woman, half confused and half curious, as she cut through the crowd. 

"I'm the Doctor, by the way. Who are you?"

"Yasmin Khan, Yaz to my friends," Yaz paused, frowning. "Doctor who, exactly?" 

"Just the Doctor."

Yaz decided not to question it. She'd figured by then that the Doctor was a Time Lord — there was no other explanation for her clothes and strange behaviour — but she wanted to be sure. Besides, as friendly as the Doctor seemed, Yaz had been raised on stories of the Time Lords. She knew not to antagonise them.

"Is this the right stall?" The Doctor asked as she spotted the stall Yaz had been at earlier.

"Yeah, that's it."

"Brilliant." The Doctor strode up to the stall, Yaz still in tow, and began to chat to the woman there.

"May I interest you in one of my lovely perfumes?" The woman said. Her eyes glanced between the Doctor and Yaz, and the hand that linked them both together. "Certain to turn any boy — or girl's — head. It would make a lovely gift for your lady friend here."

Yaz felt her face turn beet red, her eyes wide. She pulled her hand out of the Doctor's immediately and shook her head. The Doctor seemed unsure, but one look at Yaz's face and she could see the right answer. "No thank you, we're good."

She handed the soap to Yaz and they walked away. "So, where are you from, Miss Khan?"

"Yasmin's fine," Yaz placed the soap safely into her basket, not willing to risk it going flying again. "I live a few miles away from here. What about you?"

"Gallifrey, originally — I'm in town with the army, now, though."

Yaz turned to look at the Doctor, awe written across her face. "So you really are a Time Lord."

"Yeah, I am," the Doctor laughed nervously. "You seem surprised."

"I've never met a Time Lord before."

"Really?" The Doctor returned her gaze with disbelief. "Well, I hope I'm a good ambassador then. I know we don't always get the best reputation."

Yaz couldn't help snorting at what the Doctor said, but she didn't reply. She wasn't going to try her luck with a Time Lord.

"I really am sorry about crashing into you," The Doctor said, her face all scrunched up with guilt. "Can I make it up to you?"

"You already have. There's nothing more you can do," Yaz smiled.

The Doctor paused, thinking. "Well, what are you doing now?"

"Running errands for my dad — shopping, mostly."

"Can I come with? I can help you or escort you or something."

Yaz raised an eyebrow. "Escort me?"

"Yeah, these are dangerous times," the Doctor said with a wink. "There are mad women running everywhere, knocking the soap right out of your hands."

"You're right," Yasmin laughed. "You better come with me then, just in case."

The Doctor took looped her arm through Yaz's and smiled. "So, what's first on the list?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> With half an hour before midnight, the second chapter is up! Technically on schedule, as well. The shut down has... not been good for me, to be honest, but it’s given me motivation to write, at least. Maybe not to edit, but oh well. I hope everyone’s safe and happy (as much as they can be) and that the world is kind to you all. Have a lovely day :)


	3. Destruction

They had been walking around the market for quite some time, idly chatting as Yaz chose the things she needed. The Doctor, whose arm was still looped through Yaz's, held the basket in her other arm. She had insisted on carrying it, much to Yaz's chagrin.

"What else do you need?" The Doctor asked as she slid the twine Yaz had just bought into the basket.

"Um... buttons, salt, embroidery thread, and something sweet for my sister Sonya's birthday."

"Geez, you don't half have a lot to get. How do you remember it all?"

Yaz laughed. "Mum's been complaining about running out of most of this stuff for days now, so it's not that hard." 

She spotted a stall only a few metres away which seemed to have the thread and buttons she was looking for. The stall was smaller than most, and laden with all sorts of crafty wares, from the needles and brightly coloured thread to the many different types of button laid out on display. The seller was an old man, short and somewhat scruffy, and had a wide grin on his face.

"Why don't you just write a list? It would save you having to remember it," said the Doctor.

Yaz snorted. "Who has the money for paper? We wouldn't just waste it on a shopping list." 

The Doctor stared at her as if it was the first time she had to consider that paper might be expensive. Of course, it might have been—Time Lords didn't exactly live in squalor, and Yaz could see all the shiny badges decorating the Doctor's blue uniform. Her clothes were tailored to fit—definitely not hand me downs—and while her boots looked pretty worn, they were clearly good quality.

Yaz could feel her cheeks heat up as the two lapsed into a moment of awkward silence. The Doctor had made her feel at ease as soon as they met, but the differences between them suddenly seemed huge. There she stood, Yasmin Khan, next to a Time Lord. At least she didn't have to admit that, along with the price of paper, the struggle she had with reading would have stopped her from using a list anyway. 

Yaz tugged the Doctor in the direction of the stall. As they approached, Yaz noticed the embarrassed look on the Doctor's face turn to one of worry. 

"What is it?" she asked.

"Nothing," the Doctor replied, just a little too fast. "I just thought I saw something."

Yaz hummed and turned away. She didn't know the Doctor well enough to question the obvious lie. 

"What do you think about this one?" She held a shiny metal button up to the Doctor. 

"It's practical," the Doctor scrunched up her nose. "Bit boring. Could use some colour." She gestured at the painted wooden beads on the other side of the table.

"Unfortunately, mum prizes practicality over colour," Yaz laughed as she reached for the purse around her waist. She untied it and handed the stall keeper enough for ten of the metal buttons. "Dad sometimes carves us buttons, for presents or for special occasions."

The Doctor hadn't lost the crease between her eyebrows or the slight frown on her lip. She glanced between Yaz, who was examining embroidery thread, and somewhere far beyond the stall, though her eye never seemed to settle. When Yaz was done, they moved on, the Doctor's grip tight on Yaz's arm.

"Why are you here?" Yaz asked suddenly. Even she hadn't been sure she would say it before it came out her mouth.

The Doctor paused, confused. "Um, I wanted to make sure you were okay? I thought I might have hurt you earlier and I wanted to make sure you weren't dazed or anything."

If it wasn't a Time Lord saying it, Yaz might have believed her, but she knew better. Time Lords were not known for their kindness—they were known for their 'non interference policy', for their manners and protocols, for their logic and sneaky tactics. Kindness didn't come into it.

Yaz didn't say any of that. Instead, she changed the question. "I didn't mean it like that—I want to know why you're on Earth. It's not exactly the jewel of the galaxy."

The Doctor smiled. "It's the jewel of this galaxy—and I'd know. I've been to most places this side of Raxacoricofallapatorius." There was a sigh as the Doctor's face hardened. "I'm a General on Gallifrey, and one of my squadrons has been placed here."

"Why?"

"I can't tell you that, Yaz. Top war secrets and all that."

Yaz scowled at the secrecy and the informal use of her name. Only her friends called her Yaz. She stopped in her tracks and placed her arm, which had been linked with the Doctor's, on the Doctor's shoulder.

"Tell me, then—honestly—are we safe?"

The Doctor didn't say anything, and Yaz realised she didn't need to.

"Good luck, then. I hope you beat them."

"Thanks."

Yaz's arm swung by her side as she stepped forwards, towards a different stall. The noise coming from the people around them was nothing compared to the noise inside her head, but she was determined to ignore it. She had to be optimistic, she thought, she had to keep a sunny outlook. It was the only way to get through the uncertainty.

"You're not like I expected a Time Lord to be," she said eventually.

The Doctor laughed. "Yeah, they all say that too. Don't really fit in, me. Bit too weird."

"Yeah, you are." Yaz laughed before slapping a hand over her mouth. "Sorry! I didn't mean to be rude." She glanced nervously at the Doctor, unsure of her reaction.

The Doctor put her hand awkwardly against Yaz's shoulder and smiled. "Woah, calm down there, Yaz. I'm not offended. Blimey, you look frightened—I don't bite, I promise!" With that, she crossed a finger across either side of her chest. "Cross my hearts."

"I'm sorry, I don't know much about Time Lord customs or anything."

"Don't apologize, it doesn't matter. I don't care about all that stuff anyway; it's hard to make friends when you're all bogged down by convention." The Doctor lifted her hand off Yaz's shoulder and let it fall to her side. "Have you got everything, then?" 

Yaz shook her head. "One more thing—something sweet for my sister. It's her birthday in a few days."

"Oh goody, I love birthdays! What are you planning on getting her?"

"Not sure, probably something with custard—it's her favourite." They left the stall they'd been standing by and wandered over to one laden with baked goods.

"You should try custard creams, they're amazing—I love a good custard cream, I do."

Yaz smiled as the Doctor rambled on. She had hoped to get more out of this conversation, but, surprisingly, she didn't mind listening to the Doctor's strange but enthusiastic talk as much as she might have. There were loads of pastries and sweets to choose from while she listened, so Yaz let herself have time to think. 

Most of the pastries were too expensive—they were meant for special occasions, after all—but there were a few that looked cheap and tasty enough for a birthday treat. She was just about to reach for one when the Doctor suddenly stopped talking.

"Yaz, be quiet."

"I'm already—" 

The Doctor grabbed her arm and yanked her away from the cart, her grip like iron. She pushed Yaz into the air just as the cart exploded, sending wood and little cakes flying. The person working the cart glowed green as something was fired at them, their skeleton suddenly visible, before they landed on the ground with a heavy thump. The air sizzled as Yaz pushed herself up, her palms grazed and her head sore.

"What was that?"She demanded.

"A Dalek," the Doctor said as she staggered to her feet. "You need to go, now."

Another bang came from nearby and the market place became a flurry of people running away and screaming in terror. Yaz was nearly knocked over by one man, who was carrying a child in each arm as he ran in the opposite direction to the explosion. 

"I'm not going," Yaz said.

The Doctor was frantically zapping the air around them with a small metal device. "Yes, you are. There's only one of them so your chances of survival are actually quite high, but only if you get out now."

Yaz took a deep breath and pushed her shoulders back. "I want to help."

"Oh, you're brave," the Doctor's eyes shone. "I like that—but I'm a trained fighter, and you're a civilian. It's my duty to keep you safe, Yaz."

"But—"

"Really, there's no time to argue! I promise this is the best thing you can do—just follow me." The Doctor grabbed Yaz's hand and pulled her away from the bangs, which were getting faster.

They ran as fast as they could, away from the unseen Dalek and towards the edge of the market. Their feet beat against the stone streets, the heat of the explosions warming the back of Yaz's legs. It was close.

The Doctor turned abruptly. "Did you walk to the market?"

"What?" Yaz wheezed. She was already out of breath from the running. 

"You said you didn't live here. Did you walk?"

"No, I came in my neighbour's cart."

"Which way is it?"

Yaz spun around, mind racing. "That way!" She pointed and they sprinted forward. 

Behind them, she could hear the noise of the Dalek, the machine, as it called out its dreadful purpose. _Exterminate. Exterminate. Exterminate. _Each repetition was followed by an explosion, and the knowledge that somebody else had died.__

__"I'm gonna raise the alarm," the Doctor said, holding the little metal device above their heads. It made a small buzzing noise and the top glowed orange as she waved it around, but the noise could barely be heard over the explosions and the screams. "That'll alert the rest of the squadron, if they move quickly then maybe..."_ _

__There was a loud bang behind them and the Doctor lurched forwards, her eyes wide and feral. Yaz's hand had become clammy and sweat dripped from her eyebrow. She had never run so fast or so desperately in her life—she realised, with a start, that she was running for her life._ _

__"Doctor, how do we stop it?" Yaz yelled over the noise. She couldn't see her dad or Graham anywhere, and she didn't think they would make it back to them before the Dalek got to them. The only option was to fight._ _

__"There are lots of ways, lots of weapons, but they're all back at the base. I'm sorry Yaz, I really am, but I don't know."_ _

__Yaz felt her hand slip from the Doctor's as she ran, unable to keep up with her pace. She was slowing the Doctor down._ _

__"How long 'till your soldiers get here?"_ _

__"A few minutes, maybe." The Doctor bit her lip. "I'll have a plan by then. I'll figure something out."_ _

__A barrel fell over and apples spilled onto the floor, getting in the way of their feet. "Don't worry, you've got the rest of our lives to figure it out," Yaz said. She jumped over the apples and tried to tighten her grip on the Doctor's hand._ _

__They turned a street corner and ran into a throng of panicked people. The Doctor ran a few steps ahead, her pace faster, directing the people away from the Dalek, but her hand was still firmly wrapped around Yaz's. Yaz tried to hold on, but it became harder as more people began to run around them. A woman cut in between them, severing the Doctor's hand from Yaz's._ _

__Yaz cried out, but the Doctor was gone, and Yaz was sent tumbling to the floor as people pushed past her. Feet pounded above her head and as she tried to get up she was kicked to the floor, her leg now bleeding. Someone stepped on her ankle and then her stomach, hard leather boots appearing from nowhere to pound her into the ground. Yaz was knocked back by the pain, blood covering her hands when she tried to feel what was wrong._ _

__She curled in on herself, realising that there was no way to get out of the crowd—she would have to wait for them to go. The pain in her ankle became unbearable as she clutched her legs and prayed. What was she going to do? The Doctor, the only Time Lord nearby, had left her, and there was no way she could run now._ _

__As she laid on the ground, aching, the crowd thinned. There were less and less kicks, less boots against her head, until Yaz realised that nearly everyone was gone. She opened her eyes and swore. Only a second or two could have passed since she lost the Doctor, and yet she could hear the Dalek was only a street away—two at most._ _

__Yaz pushed herself onto her elbows and dragged herself across the street. Her foot lagged behind, unable to move, and she hissed as pain lanced through her crushed ankle. There was no way she'd be able to follow the crowd, so Yaz figured her best option was to hide and hope the Dalek didn't come down this street._ _

__She heaved herself forwards, her head pounding. Grime dusted her hands and crept into her eye, forcing her to close her eyes as she blinked it away. Yaz pushed herself towards an overturned cart and, with a final groan, slumped behind it, her back pressed up against the wood. There was nearly no one on the street by then, the unearthly silence was broken only by the explosions moving closer and closer—some poor souls must not have escaped._ _

__A few feet away from her, a child lay, huddled, against the wall of a house. Yaz caught the girl's eye and felt her heart fall into her stomach as she saw the child's tear stained face. She was small—five or six at most—and the handkerchief tied ‘round her hair was coming loose. Mud smeared her face and the look in her eye was like that of a frightened animal. Yaz realised, with a start, that she must have looked the same. She beckoned the girl over, a finger to her lips, hoping that there would be some way she could protect her._ _

__The girl sat next to Yaz. Neither of them said a word._ _

__Yaz felt the tears spill out of her eyes and land on her lap. Her face scrunched up, mouth quivering, and it felt like there was a heavy weight in her throat—the pain was immense. Her ankle pulsed in time to her heartbeat and there was a dull ache in her head as Yaz bit down on her lip, trying not to make a sound._ _

__Behind her, there was a noise._ _

__Yaz tensed, fear soaking through every cell in her body. The machine—the Dalek—moved down the street, scanning a light up and down as it passed. Yaz listened to it come closer, and watched the scanner light hit the wall opposite, blocked only by the overturned cart. She held the girl to her side, her lips forming the shape of a silent prayer._ _

__"Reveal yourself."_ _

__Yaz stopped. The tinny, electric voice of the Dalek was right behind them. It spoke in a slow, deliberate way, one syllable at a time, and there was no doubt it was aimed at them. Yaz looked at the girl and made a decision._ _

__"Stay here," she mouthed. The girl nodded._ _

__She used the cart to pull herself up and stood, hunched, on one leg. Yaz lurched forwards, determined to get as far away from the cart before it shot her, to distract it and hope it wouldn't notice the girl._ _

__If she couldn't survive, maybe the girl could._ _

__Yaz fell to the ground, blood smearing the stone street in front of her. Her brain felt foggy and slow, only working at half speed, like a sick horse before it was put down. She hoped it would be quick._ _

__The Dalek stood in front of her; a machine made entirely of sharp lines and unforgiving metal. Light shone off its side, but even that seemed colder than it should. Its eye stalk zeroed in on her, and there was a pause._ _

__Yaz shuddered—that was not how it had killed those other people._ _

__She held her breath and waited._ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to the wonderful @actuallyme for being my beta. Thank you all so much for your lovely comments. I hope you have a wonderful day :)


	4. The Wreckage

The Dalek stared at her, it’s eye stalk seeming to glare right into her soul. Yaz stared back, her gaze unwavering despite the fear pooling in her belly. 

"You," it said slowly, "were seen with the Doctor."

Yaz wanted to laugh. Of course the last moments of her life would be dictated by a Time Lord, the Time Lord who had left her behind, no less.

"Yeah," she said lamely. Her head was spinning.

"You are a companion of the Doctor."

"What? No—we met today, I don't really know her. I just know she had a plan." Yasmin hoped against everything, against all logic and reason, that the Doctor had a plan that included coming back for her. Maybe, if she could just keep the Dalek talking long enough... 

"Do you know her plan?"

"No."

"Then you are of no use to us."

"Wait!" Yaz flung her hands out in front of her. "I... I'm more valuable to you alive than dead."

Yaz realised that it was no use waiting for the Doctor, she was going to die, but maybe she could save the little girl. She needed to lead the Dalek away. 

"What use could you have to the Daleks?"

Yaz bit down the panic. Black spots clouded her vision. "I know where the weapon is."

"What weapon?"

"The Time Lord's weapon. They're keeping it here, out of the way—no one would ever expect it to be hidden here."

There was a pause as the Dalek weighed up her words.

"Where is it?"

"I can lead you to it."

"You are lying."

Her stomach dropped. Her brain, which was slow anyway, seemed to stop completely.

The Dalek took aim at her and Yaz closed her eyes. "You are of no use to the Daleks. You are not important."

Yaz felt the fog in her brain deepen. She had been holding onto reality as hard as she could, but her grip was loosening—and what was the point of remaining conscious if she would be dead in a few seconds anyway? Yaz sighed and let her shoulders relax, ready to embrace unconsciousness.

There was a strange wheezing noise, first from behind, and then all around her.

"Yasmin Khan, not important?" A familiar voice said. “I’m going to have to disagree with that—because, you see, Yasmin Khan is very important."

Was that... it couldn't be... was that the Doctor?

Yaz could barely think, the darkness completely surrounding her, so, with that final thought she fell unconscious. 

***

Yaz was aware, faintly, of someone speaking next to her but the words were blurry. Darkness surrounded her—wonderful, welcoming darkness, and the fog of sleep. She was asleep, then, or dead. Either was fine with her in that moment. As she rolled over on her side, the speaking stopped.

"Yaz? Yaz?" The voice was louder now.

"Is she awake?"

"Waking up, I think."

Yaz burrowed back into the covers, looking for warmth.

"Yaz, can you hear me?" 

Yaz groaned and lifted a heavy hand to wave them away. There was a snort of laughter and she felt a rough hand on her cheek. "Sweetheart wake up."

It was her mother's voice, Yaz realised as she pushed her eyes open. Her head was heavy and the world around her spun for a moment before it settled back into place. With a sigh, she turned to look at the people standing by her bedside. 

Crouched next to her was her mother, her face creased up in a smile. Behind her, standing a little awkwardly, was the Doctor. They were sat in a small room with beige walls, two chairs and a bed. The bed was low, more of a cot really, and softer than what Yaz was used to, even if the sheets were scratchy. To the side was a window, the curtains pulled open to let in the light, and at the foot of the bed was a pile of what was probably medical instruments. Yaz frowned.

"Five more minutes," she rolled back over. Her body ached all over, but the pain in her ankle was growing stronger as Yaz woke up. She just wanted to curl back into herself, back into the painless void of sleep and away from all that pain.

"You've been asleep for two days, Yaz," the Doctor said gently. 

"Two days?" She groaned. "Well, I could do with another two."

"Hush, dear, the Doctor needs to check that you're alright." Najia brushed the loose hair back from Yaz's face.

Yaz stared at her mother, her forehead wrinkled in confusion. Why wouldn't she be alright, and why had she been asleep for so long? Then she remembered. The whole day came crashing back to her at once—the market, the Dalek, the scared little girl. She was about to die—she was meant to be dead! 

Yaz sat up straight, her head suddenly clear. "I was about to die, and there was a little girl, just a little kid, I have to make sure she's okay—"

"She's alright, Yaz, I swear," the Doctor stepped forwards. "Hanna is safe and sound, all thanks to you."

"But how did we get away?"

"Easy! I materialized my Tardis around you, grabbed Hanna, and blew up the Dalek. Not necessarily in that order," the Doctor said with a smile. "Now, if you could just sit up straight, I can properly examine you. I am the Doctor, after all."

As Yaz sat up, the pain in her head eased. "Where are we, anyway?" She asked.

"In the medical wing of the Army Base," Najia said. 

The Doctor sat on the edge of the bed and pressed the back of her hand against Yaz's forehead. Her lips tightened, but didn't say anything. Instead, she moved her fingers to Yaz's wrist and waited a moment. The Doctor hummed and reached for the same little machine she had been waving about in the marketplace. She pointed it at Yaz for a second before turning to Najia.

"Her heartbeat is steady but her temperature is a little low. Vital signs looking good, and her ankle should be fine in about two months."

"I am still here, you know."

"Right, sorry," the Doctor grinned sheepishly. "You're gonna need to take it easy for the next while, no heavy lifting or long walks or anything. Your ankle got smashed during the attack and you sustained a few other injuries, so you've gotta be careful."

"But I need to be able to work."

Najia tutted. "You will work, when you're physically able. Until then you can help me cook."

Yaz frowned, but didn't argue—as much as she preferred to work in the fields, she knew she was lucky to be alive. She was lucky the Doctor had saved her.

"Why was there only one Dalek?" Yaz asked, her curiosity getting the better of her.

"Ah, good question, that—ten points to Yaz. There was only one Dalek because it's a small town and that's usually all they need. I think their plan is to take out the defenseless villages and market towns so that the cities—where all the soldiers are—lose all the resources coming in from the countryside."

"Oh," Yaz bit her lip. "So there's more of them coming, then?"

The Doctor rubbed the back of her head. "Yeah, most likely. I'm sorry."

"Will they attack here again?"

The Doctor nodded, her lips tight. She stood up from her spot on the edge of Yaz's cot and began to pace the room. "We'll do our best, though—the army, I mean, we'll stop whatever plan the Daleks have for Earth."

"Thanks, Doctor."

"Right, well," the Doctor trailed off, her cheeks slightly pinker than before. "I best be off now. Army stuff to do, and all that. Glad you're okay, Yaz, and it was nice to meet you, Yaz's mum."

The Doctor opened the door and waved at them.

Yaz's mum sighed. "I told you, it's Najia—"

The Doctor was already out the door.

"Bye Doctor!" Yaz called. 

The Doctor paused and stuck her head back through the door, a sudden thought clouding her expression. "How old are you, Yaz?" She asked.

"I'm nineteen. Why?"

The Doctor paused. "I'm just curious. Don't worry about it." And with that she was gone.

Yaz turned to look at her mother, who seemed just as confused as she was. 

***

A few hours later, Yaz had been discharged and given a wooden crutch to help her walk. With her mum supporting her on one side and the crutch on the other, she managed to hobble her way to the marketplace where her dad was waiting. 

The streets that had held the market were completely different from when Yaz had last seen them. Gone were the stalls and vendors she had spent the morning in, replaced instead by bare streets and silence. Yaz noticed the piles of rubble next to the holes in the street that they passed, each cracked cobblestone marking out a place where the Dalek had fired. A few times she tripped over the rocks, but Najia held her upright. Yaz thanked God for her family.

Yaz shivered. There were no people in sight, no barrels of fruit or carts of produce or shoppers milling around; just silence. A few scared faces peaked out from house windows, but no one dared step outside. The Market had truly changed.

By the time they reached her father, Yaz was exhausted. Her arms hurt from the extra weight they had to take on and her good leg ached from being the only foot in use. Her ankle, of course, was still killing her. 

"Yaz?" Hakim called, his voice soft. 

Yaz grinned, all pain temporarily forgotten, and limped over to her father.

"Dad!" She pulled the arm slung around Najia's shoulder and grabbed Hakim, holding him to her. "I'm glad you got out okay."

Her dad was stood by Graham's cart and he seemed to be unharmed, there wasn't a scratch on him. Behind him was Graham, sat in his usual spot at the front of the cart, who looked fine from where Yaz was standing. She made eye contact with him and called out to him. 

"How are you doing, Graham?"

"Alright, considering everything, love," he gave her a wave.

Hakim squeezed his daughter again before letting her go. Yaz lent on her crutch and smiled. She tried to hide the tiredness that permeated her entire body, but she could see from her parent’s eyes that she wasn’t doing a good job.

"Can we go home now?" Yaz asked.

"Of course, sweetheart," her mum said, and patted Yaz's shoulder.

Once the ordeal of getting Yaz into the cart was over, the ride back to the farm was pretty calm and quiet. Najia and Hakim sat on either side of Yaz, their hands gripped tight together, as if they were scared Yaz would disappear in front of them. Graham hummed from the front, occasionally calling back to them, but no one was in much of a mood to talk. 

When they got back to the farm, Yaz thanked Graham for coming to get her. 

"It's no trouble, cockle," he said. "I'm just glad you're safe."

Sonya ran outside to greet them and to wave Graham off. She didn't touch Yaz, and when Yaz pulled her in for a hug her grip was light, as though she was trying not to break her. Yaz didn't say anything about it, she was just relieved to be home and safe again. 

"You proper scared us," Sonya said, pretending to glare. "I thought I was finally rid of you."

Yaz laughed. "You'll have to try harder than that to get rid of me. Come on, let's get inside; I'm starving.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, here we are, the next chapter! Hopefully you all enjoy it. I’m planning to post the next chapter earlier than usual this week (Wednesday, all things going well). This is the last week of the holiday for me so I’m going to try write a few chapters ahead in case I don’t have time to write regularly anymore, especially since I have another project that’s taking up a lot of my time and schoolwork is... difficult. I don’t know why I find it harder to work at home, though I’m sure there’s some psychological reason, but there we are. I hope everyone is safe and happy, and has a lovely day :)


	5. Chapter 5

The sun shone through the open window and onto the wool in Yaz's lap. It was quiet inside; Hakim and Sonya were in the field, and Yaz could see her mother chopping wood in the garden. Beside her, a pot boiled on the fire and filled the room with the smell of hot soup.

Yaz held a drop spindle in one hand and the clump of wool in the other, which she fed onto the spindle. The spindle was small, shorter than her forearm, and was made of a polished wooden stick with a circular base attached a few centimetres from the bottom. Yaz wound the wool around the spindle and let it drop to the floor before she flicked the stick back into her hand. She repeated the action again and again, until most of the wool was gone. 

The work was simple, but it didn't require standing, and the repetition was soothing. Yaz could sit there with the spindle for hours, lost in her head. She’d been given a lot to think about recently, and she was still sorting through her thoughts that afternoon.

It had been a week since Yaz had got home from the market, and while her life had returned to normal, the rest of the planet was still holding its breath. Every few days, Graham's grandson Ryan—one of Yaz's mates—would walk up to their farm with more news of the Time War and how it had developed since he last saw them. Most mornings started with the heavy industrial hum of Time Lord ships as they flew across the sky, loaded up with more troops and weapons, and every conversation seemed to lead, one way or another, back to the omnipresent issue of the Daleks.

Yaz sighed. While her parents worried and made plans, she couldn't help but feel like she wasn't doing enough. Ever since the first attack, she had felt helpless and unsafe. Her own home felt like a trap, with unseen dangers lurking around every corner, and she couldn't do anything about it. She wanted to know for sure that the Daleks would never go to her farm.

As Yaz picked up the next clump of wool and began to wind it around the spindle, she heard a knock at the door. She froze. Daleks didn't knock, but they also weren't expecting anyone. Ryan never knocked when he came over, just strode in like he owned the place, and Yaz couldn't think of a single other person it could be. 

There was another knock.

Yaz stood slowly, her weight balanced on her crutch. If it was the Daleks, somehow, if it was a trap, then there was no point in hiding from it. Her crutch dug in under her arm as she walked, and there was a slight sheen of sweat on her forehead from the effort, but it was a thousand times better than putting weight on her shattered ankle.

When Yaz had finally heaved herself to the front door and opened it, she was surprised to see that it was not in fact a Dalek behind her wooden door. It was the Doctor.

"Yaz!" The Doctor beamed, and swept into the house. "It's good to see you, I thought I'd come check up on you when I had the chance; do you mind if I come in?"

The Doctor didn't wait for a response before she sat herself down on a stool by the fire. Yaz followed behind, perplexed, but didn't say anything. She wasn't easily embarrassed, and she had always been proud of her home and her family, but having the Doctor in her house made Yaz feel weird. When she saw the Time Lord duck under the low doorway and sit down, bright blue clothes contrasted against the brown of the furniture, it was very clear how different the Doctor's world was to her own.

The bottom floor of the house was made up of three rooms, all small and connected to each other. The main room was where they ate and where the front door opened to, and in the center of it was a long wooden table with a bench on one side and two stools on the other. A weak fire spat at the end of the room, next to the opening that led to the kitchen. 'Kitchen', of course, was a very optimistic word—in truth, it was more of a pantry for storing food since most of the cooking was done in the main room—and that led both to the bathroom and the garden, depending on which door you took. 

"Do you want some tea?" Yaz asked.

"Ooh, that'd be lovely, thank you," the Doctor looked at Yaz with a gaze she found hard to read, but seemed, more than anything, to be kind. "Do you want a hand? I make an excellent cuppa."

Yaz hesitated. She didn't want it to look like she needed help, but she also didn't trust herself to lift a kettle full of water to the fireplace. "Sure," she eventually said, and led the Doctor into the kitchen.

"The kettle is in there," she pointed to a cupboard. "We've got lavender, rose, and black tea, though we usually save that for special occasions. Which would you like?"

"Hmm, lavender sounds good, nice and purple."

Yaz pulled a few sprigs of lavender from the bunch hanging from a hook on the shelf. When the Doctor had lifted the kettle onto the sideboard, Yaz dropped the lavender inside and poured water from the drinking water jar inside. With a nod to the Doctor, she placed the lid back on top.

"How are you doing, Yaz?" the Doctor said as she carried the kettle over to the fireplace, where the soup was still cooking, and hung it on a hook next to the pot.

"I'm fine."

"Really?"

Yaz sat on the bench and rested her arm against the table. "As fine as I can be."

The Doctor hummed.

"What about you?"

"What?" The Doctor scrunched her face up, as though she wasn't used to being asked questions like that.

"It must have been hard for you, fighting the Dalek by yourself."

"Nah, not really, I'm used to it."

"And then waiting two days for me to wake up."

The kettle bubbled happily over the fireplace while Yaz gave the Doctor time to respond. The silence stretched out for several seconds; it wasn't uncomfortable, but there was so much not being said that it filled the air between them. After a few moments, the Doctor spoke.

"I had to make sure you were safe, didn't I? Couldn't have you hurt because I let go of you in that crowd. Anyway, there's not much else to do in my breaks."

"Well, thank you."

"No problem. I think our tea's ready."

Yaz nodded and went to lift the pot from the fire. With shaking arms, she poured the tea out and handed a cup to the Doctor. Her own tea steamed in the cup, the smell of lavender curling prettily through the air.

"Lovely tea this is, absolutely brilliant. Good as the talking tea I had back in Akhaten, though that had the downside of trying to insult you every time you took a sip."

Yaz couldn't help but laugh. "I think you might be the strangest person I've ever met."

"Thanks, I'm trying."

There was another round of laughter as they both drank their tea. Outside, Yaz could hear Najia calling to someone—Sonya maybe—but she ignored it. She was completely focused on the Doctor's strange stories.

"Do you travel a lot, then?" She asked. Yasmin had always wanted to travel, but she'd never been able to. The life of a Time Lord seemed to her like an amalgamation of all her dreams and nightmares, it appeared fantastical and horrifying at the same time.

"I used to, before the war. I used to travel all over the place, to every planet and time period I could find. I got a bit of a reputation for it, actually."

"Oh yeah?"

The Doctor hummed and dragged her pinkie finger around the rim of her cup. "Is that something you'd do, if you had the chance? Or are you more of a fighter or a farmer or a merchant, maybe, Yaz?"

"Um, I'd like to travel—I'd love to, actually." Yaz tried not to stare at the Doctor. She got the feeling that the Doctor wasn't really asking her about travel; she felt like the Doctor was sussing her out. "I think I might miss my family too much, though."

"I get that."

"What was your favourite place to visit?" Yaz said, perhaps a little too brightly. She could figure out the Doctor's double meaning later.

"Oh, that's a tough one, that is, but I suppose—”

Just then, the door swung open, revealing Najia, her eyes as wide as plates. She strode into the room and stopped in front of Yaz, her arms crossed. "Yaz?" Najia said, her voice devoid of any emotion, yet somehow still strained.

Yaz gulped. "Yes?"

"I didn't know we had a guest."

"Oh, um, the Doctor just came to check on me." Yaz glanced nervously between her mum and the Doctor. Sure, they seemed to get along fine when Yaz was injured, but Yaz knew how her mum felt about Time Lords, and how Time Lords generally felt about humans.

The Doctor stood and shook Najia's hand enthusiastically. "Hello again, Mrs Khan. How d'ya do?"

Najia paused. "I'm fine, thank you, we're honoured to have a Time Lord general in our home."

The Doctor blushed, but didn't respond. 

"Has Yaz offered you anything to drink or eat? We have some black tea saved, if you'd like?"

"I've already got some, thanks," the Doctor held up her nearly empty cup. "There's no need to make a fuss, though. I just wanted to stop by and check that Yaz is alright before I leave."

Yaz turned to stare at the Doctor. "Leave? You're leaving?"

"Oh, yes, blimey, did I not mention that?" The Doctor said. "I'm going back to Gallifrey tomorrow morning."

Najia's eyes narrowed while Yaz's brain went over the possible reasons why. "If you're leaving, does that mean the Daleks aren't coming here again?" She asked after a moment.

The Doctor winced. "No, sorry. I'm leaving because I'm getting a... promotion, I guess you could say, but there will be a replacement general, and probably more troops, sent over soon, so don’t worry. They'll likely start recruiting here, too."

Najia visibly tensed as she heard this. "Is that why you're really here, then? To recruit my daughters?" Her voice was hard and cold, and her glare could cut through stone.

"Goodness, no! Never, not in a million years Mrs Khan," the Doctor held her hands up in mock surrender. "In fact, I promise when the draft comes in, I'll do my best to get them both out of it. Cross my hearts."

"How will you do that, then?"

"Don't know yet. I'll do my best, though."

Yaz felt like they'd both forgotten she was in the room. She placed her now empty mug back on the table. "Why?"

The Doctor sighed. "Because I think the draft is cruel, and when I meet brave people like you I want to help more than anything. I might not be able to help everyone, but if I can get some people, even just a few, out of this mess, then I can live with that."

Yaz nodded, unsure of what to say. Najia stood very still while the Doctor finished her tea.

"Well, I think I better leave," the Doctor said. She stood up and made her way to the door. "Have a nice day, both of you. It was great to see you again, Yaz."

Yaz didn't have time to get up at the sudden exit, but Najia was already holding the door. The Doctor muttered something in her ear as they shook hands again, but Yaz couldn't quite hear what they said. She could, however, see her mother's grim nod.

"Goodbye Doctor," Yaz called as the door shut. "Well, she certainly likes to leave suddenly."

"Hmm," Najia replied, and turned back to the soup.

***

Dinner that night was tense, more tense than it had been for a long time. Sonya, for once, was silent, as even she could sense it was a bad time for joking around. The only conversation was between Hakim and Najia, who exchanged terse details about their day while they ate.

"Did you finish spinning that wool I wanted?" Hakim addressed Yaz eventually. He had wanted to knit a pair of socks with it, and Yaz felt guilty for not getting it done.

"No, not yet. I was distracted."

"Distracted?"

"Yeah, the Doctor—y'know, the Time Lord from the market—came for a visit."

Hakim spat out his soup while Sonya stared at her. Only Najia didn't react, her expression already set.

"You're pulling my leg," Hakim tried to laugh.

"No, she's telling the truth. I saw her," Najia said.

"What was she doing here?"

"She wanted to check I was okay after what happened."

Hakim raised an eyebrow. "Seems a bit unusual. I bet it has something to do with—"

"Dad, don't start with one of your conspiracies," Sonya interrupted. "She probably just took a liking to Yaz. Soldiers do that." She winked at Yaz from across the table.

Yaz blushed and distracted herself with a slice of bread. 

"Time Lords don't," Najia said. "Time Lords are motivated by different things. Like power."

There was a pause. "You're right," Hakim said. "With all this Dalek nonsense going on, I wouldn't be surprised if she was trying to recruit you."

Yaz shook her head. "She promised Mum she wasn’t. And anyway, I don't think she likes any of this army malarkey."

"She said she wouldn't force you into the army, sweetheart," Najia said, softly, "but there are other ways to join the war."

Yaz's eyebrows knitted together. "Like what?"

"You could be a skivvy," Sonya quipped. "Imagine that, cleaning up after all them Time Lords." She pretended to shudder.

"Oi, just because you've never done a day of cleaning in your life!" Yaz laughed. "But really, I believe the Doctor. She saved my life. And I don't think she's in charge of recruitment anyway."

"Maybe not," Najia said, but she didn't seem convinced.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hiya!  
> So, here’s the next chapter, on time, surprisingly. I was wondering if it would be better to post two chapters in a week every now and then, or if you would prefer to simply have a longer chapter on that Monday? I’ll still be posting at the same schedule, but sometimes I write a lot ahead of schedule, so I’m not sure whether to have more chapters or longer chapters. Anyway, tell me what you think. I hope you have a lovely day :)


	6. Chapter 6

The next few months weren't easy. As spring grew stronger, Yaz's family needed more and more help outside but she was unable to give it. She was no longer allowed to go to the market with her father and Yaz could see the stress her parents were under as more bad news came from Gallifrey.

First, there were the extra taxes. They were used to sending extra food and supplies to feed the war, but with every month it increased until the Khan family had to make do with half-empty plates nearly every mealtime. The grumbling in their stomachs was rivaled only by that of Sonya.

Graham began to stop by more often with Ryan, sometimes bringing food with them and staying for dinner. They always brought news of the Time War, however, and it seemed to be getting bad. The Daleks were mostly focusing their attacks on other planets but a few lone soldiers had appeared in some places, often taking out whole villages before the Time Lords could stop them. 

Yaz shuddered. The night air was cold against her clammy skin. She pushed herself up from where she slept and climbed over Sonya on her way to the chair that held her clothes. Yaz and Sonya usually slept on hay mats in the attic which they shared with at least one mouse, but Yaz was in no mood for sleeping. She had just woken up from another nightmare and she knew from bitter experience that she wouldn't be able to go back to bed.

The nightmares were becoming a regular occurrence; they robbed Yaz of precious sleep and left her shaking and scared in the night. She didn't want to wake Sonya, so instead she had gotten into the habit of dressing and moving downstairs to work.

Yaz slid her dress over her shoulders and wrapped a belt around her waist. She tied her hair into two half-done plaits and wrapped a handkerchief that had been folded into a triangle around her hair. With shaking legs, she slipped her boots on and began to climb down the wooden ladder into the main room.

Yaz was very careful to make sure that she didn't wake her parents as she tiptoed around the room, grabbing her darning work as she passed. She went through the kitchen and out into the garden, where she sat, cold, and waited for the sun to come up.

She set to work as the light peered over the hills. Darning was never her favourite chore, but Yaz needed something to distract herself. As she pulled the red thread through a hole in her sister's dress, she tried to push back the images of the market, of the explosions and of the cold, merciless Dalek. It didn't work. 

She had been sitting there for a few hours, the pile of mended clothes growing, when Sonya came to join her.

"Can I sit?" She asked.

"Sure."

Sonya sat down beside Yaz and stared into the distance. "How come you keep waking up so early?"

Yaz didn't respond right away. She focused on her work, careful not to prick herself with the needle. "I have trouble sleeping. I keep getting nightmares."

"About what happened at the market?"

"Yeah."

Sonya's face was blank. "You didn't get them before, when you still used the crutch."

"I was too exhausted to have nightmares. And the Doctor was still on Earth back then." Yaz shrugged.

"The Doctor?"

"She's the Time Lord that saved me." Yaz didn't want to look at her sister's expression. Instead, she set her darning down on the grass next to her and stared at the sunrise. "I guess it's harder to feel safe when she's not nearby. I owe her my life."

Sonya squinted at her sister. "She was pretty easy on the eyes, too."

"Yeah, I guess." Yaz's face scrunched up in confusion. "Is that the only thing you think about?" 

Sonya shoved her. "Not the only thing, Yaz!"

"Yeah," Yaz laughed. "You also think about how best to annoy me."

Sonya shoved her again and Yaz put her hands up in mock surrender. "Hey, I was just speaking the truth."

Sonya sighed. "Come on. Mum'll be wondering where we are." She stood up and Yaz raced to join her. "She's already worried enough about you."

They walked in together, and began their day.

***

Yaz was weeding in the herb garden when she heard the familiar clickity clack of Graham's horse coming down the road. She straightened up and dusted her dirty hands against her apron. It was nearly lunchtime and they were expecting Graham and Ryan to eat with them.

"Alright, Graham," she called as she walked round the side of the house. "How're you doing?"

He climbed down from the cart, his expression somber. Yaz couldn't see Ryan behind him. Najia, who had opened the door at the sound of Yaz's hello, walked up to greet him.

"Graham, what's wrong?" Yaz asked. The air was tense between them.

"Yaz, sweetheart, I'm really sorry, you know I am, but I've got bad news."

"Bad news?" Najia said as she put her hands on her hips. "You better come inside then."

They gathered in the front room, and Najia sent Yaz off to fetch her dad and her sister. When they were all together, Graham sat uncomfortably in the middle, the conversation began.

"I was back in town, you see, I had some deliveries to make to the barracks when I saw the sign. I really hate that I have to be the one to break this to you, but they've started recruiting."

Najia relaxed. "Well, we knew they would start recruiting soon. That's no worry, none of us want to sign up to the Time War."

Yaz was still wondering where Ryan was, and, when she caught her sister's eye, she could see Sonya wondering the same thing. 

"No, Najia, you don't understand." Graham shook his head. "They're imposing a draft—a new kind of draft. Everyone has to be part of the war effort, and recruitment is just for the specialized positions, the ones that need education."

Yaz watched her mum stiffen. Her jaw seemed to be clamped up, too, because she didn't say anything.

"So we all have to join the army?" Hakim asked. "But who will farm the fields? Who will build the engines and the weapons? We can't all be soldiers!"

Graham shook his head again. "They want older people to stay behind and work the farms, with all the produce going towards the war effort. We'll be getting our food from rations handed out in town," he scowled. "And everyone else over the age of eighteen must either volunteer to be chosen for a specific job or become a soldier."

Yaz flinched. She couldn't go into a war zone, she couldn't face another Dalek. Worse, still, she couldn't imagine Sonya in her place. 

Graham's shoulders were slumped and he looked tired. For the first time since she had known him, Yaz thought he looked old. 

"Where's Ryan?" She asked, her voice quiet.

Graham smiled bitterly. "I took him into town yesterday, and he was allocated a job on Gallifrey. I was told to bring the news to anyone who hadn't already heard, so they could go in for the next round of allocations today."

"Today?" Now that Najia spoke, her voice was urgent. "Do you mean...?"

"Yeah. I'm sorry, but Yaz has to go in today." he shuffled nervously in his seat.

Najia put a hand against the table to steady herself. "There must be something we can do."

"I don't think so, they have a register of everyone on the planet. Maybe if you volunteer for something, though, Yaz, they'll keep you away from the front lines."

Yaz fidgeted with the cuff of her sleeve but kept her face blank. If she didn't go then her whole family would face repercussions, and she couldn't do that to them. She was scared for herself—so, so, scared—but that was nothing compared to the fear she felt for her family. She would do anything to keep them safe, even if it meant joining the army.

"Do you mind giving me a lift up there, then, Graham?" Yaz said. "Since I have to go in today."

"What, no, Yaz! You can't leave!" Hakim said. "You don't know what they'll do to you."

Yaz smiled and took her hand in his. "It's okay, Dad, I can look after myself. Maybe they'll let me come back on holiday and I wow you all with stories of my adventures."

"It won't be an adventure, Yaz," said Najia. 

Yaz stared at her mother; she felt suddenly so much older. She had seen a Dalek before after all, and she knew the kind of fear she would be facing. "I know, Mum."

Graham coughed from behind her. "I'll take you, love. But the allocation will be this evening, so we have to leave soon."

Yaz nodded, her mouth set in a grim line. "I'll go get my things."

She climbed the ladder back upstairs and began to sort through her possessions. There wasn't much, but there was still more than she could take with her. Yaz didn't know what kind of job she would be allocated, so that made it much harder to pack. Eventually she settled on a change of clothes, her night things, and the woven bracelet her Dad had given her for her sixteenth birthday. It had a carved wooden pendant in the middle, shaped like a flying swallow.

Yaz changed out of her clothes and into the nice clothes she had saved for special occasions. It included a soft cotton dress in a much more vibrant shade of red than she usually wore and a long, darker scarf to tie her hair back with. Both were painstakingly embroidered with swallows and little flowers, so that the thread seemed to shimmer in the half light that came in from the window. The outfit had been a joint effort from her whole family, each contributing to make it into something special. Yaz had only worn it twice before, on holidays, and it was meant to be worn for her wedding.

She wore it now, however, because she wanted to make a good impression on the Time Lords. She knew from her mother's stories that they cared about pomp and formality, and that they might be more lenient on her if they thought she cared about it too. Besides, didn't the last day spent with her family count as a special occasion?

When she had tied her belongings up with string and slid the package into a basket, Yaz climbed back down to the bottom floor. Graham stood there, waiting, and when they caught each other's eye a look of understanding passed between them. Graham nodded once, and Yaz returned the gesture. 

"Right, well, we better be off, then," Graham said.

Hakim was crying on the other side of the room, and he ran forwards to hug Yaz. He stroked her hair and mumbled as she said goodbye, and Yaz swore she heard him call her his 'little girl'.

"It's gonna be okay, Dad," she said, blinking back the tears in her eyes. "I'll be back as soon as I can."

He nodded and let her go, at which point it was her mother who wrapped her in the next bone breaking hug. "You be safe," she said. "Take care, and don't trust anything the Time Lords say. Their first priority is to look after the Empire, not you."

"Okay, Mum."

When Najia let go of her, Yaz turned to Sonya, who frowned. "Don't be stupid," she said as she slung an arm around Yaz's shoulder. "I know that's gonna be hard for you, but at least try."

Yaz laughed, but the sound got lost in her throat. "I love you too, Sonya."

There was a cough from behind them and Sonya backed away from her.

"We really should be going, sweetheart," said Graham. 

Yaz nodded and followed him out the door. They walked in silence to the cart, the Khan family following solemnly on behind them, and Yaz couldn't help the single tear that dripped down her cheek. She wiped it off her face before anyone could see it, though—she knew she had to be strong. Yaz glanced back at her family, all lined up. They looked like a funeral procession.

"Right, are you ready?" Graham asked once she had climbed into the cart and was sat down.

"I'm ready as I can be," Yaz said.

Graham clicked his teeth and the horse jolted forward. Yaz turned to wave at her family as they drove off, and carried on waving long after they had disappeared from sight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello again!
> 
> I hope you enjoy this chapter. It’s the last we’ll see of the Khan family for a while now, which makes me sad — I’ll just have to write them in again as soon as possible. Anyway, I hope you have a lovely day and that the world is kind to you :)


	7. The Allocation

When they reached the town it was nearly evening but the streets were still somehow crowded. There was a throng of people gathered in the town square, almost as many as there had been on market day, and Yaz shrunk back into herself as she climbed out of the cart. Graham stood next to her and patted her on the shoulder. She was suddenly very glad to have him there.

They walked through the crowd of people carefully, and Yaz noticed how every face she saw seemed to have the same distressed but resigned expression on it. She wondered if she looked the same to them. Yaz picked up the hem of her dress so it didn't drag in the dirt; she didn't want to ruin the embroidery her family had worked so hard on.

There was a twinge in her ankle, the one that had been crushed months before when she ran away from the Dalek attack. It was mostly healed but, every so often, she would get an achy reminder of what had happened, and it was always worse after a long day on her feet. As if the universe had it out for her, someone pushed into Yaz from behind and she tripped on a pothole, falling head first towards the street. Graham grabbed her by the arm just as she was about to land and pulled her back up.

"Are you okay?" He asked.

"Uh, yeah," Yaz said, wincing. The pain in her ankle had just doubled. "I think I twisted my ankle."

Graham whistled in sympathy. "Careful there, poppet. If you need to lean on my shoulder, you can."

"Thanks, Graham, I'll be fine, though." Yaz didn’t want to cause him any trouble.

They walked onward, Yaz with a slight limp that she tried but failed to hide. Eventually they came to the army barracks—a tall, wide, brick building that took up more space than Yaz's entire farm. Above the double doors was the insignia of the Time Lord Empire, carved in stone and painted with blue and gold. Yaz had seen the building a few times before but it still gave her that same nervous, slightly awed feeling.

Outside, two tables had been set up, each covered with documents and staffed by a harried looking clerk. Graham and Yaz approached the first, where a young man dressed in a neat red tunic was sat. 

"Have you come to register?" He asked, not even looking at them. He was sifting through a pile of paperwork.

"Yes," said Yaz. Her voice didn't waver. "I'm Yasmin Khan, and this is Graham O'Brien."

"Uh-huh, and could you both please sign here..." he handed them a list of what looked like names and pointed to their spots on the list.

Yaz left a cross next to her name and gave the list to Graham. 

"Excellent, now, do you have any relatives over the age of eighteen who have yet to be allocated a role?"

Graham shook his head while Yaz paused. After a slight hesitation, she figured the Time Lords would already have a record of her parents, so there was no point in lying. 

"Yes, my parents, Najia and Hakim Khan, are both fifty three and they work as farmers. They're up to date with all their taxes, too."

The clerk nodded and double checked a file. "Yes, they're to continue farming for the army. As that's settled, would you two please enter the barracks via those doors there." He pointed with his pen to the doors.

Yaz and Graham left the clerk to his papers, which he had begun to sift through again, and walked through the heavy wooden doors and into the barracks. There they found a large reception, wider than it was long, with doors on the left and right walls and another opposite them. A uniformed soldier ushered Yaz and a few others through the far door, which led to a wide courtyard, but told Graham to stay behind.

Yaz waved at Graham as she was swept away, eyes growing wide with panic. Without him by her side, she felt exposed and suddenly vulnerable. She toyed with the hem of her dress, but she knew it was no time for nerves. Yaz pushed her hand down to her side and stepped forward with purpose.

The army barracks were built around the courtyard in a rectangle and were several stories high. The windows were small and thin, barely big enough to fit a head through, and the whole compound had an air of foreboding to it. The courtyard was plain, made up of a big grass field with lines drawn in white paint around it, and a single looped dirt track around the perimeter. 

The soldier told them to stand along the white lines, which Yaz guessed were used for army drills, and stay quiet. The woman next to her shook violently and Yaz couldn't blame her. Her own stomach was writhing around like an eel on market day. She placed her hand gently on the other woman's shoulder and smiled.

"It's okay, they won't hurt us."

The woman offered her a shaky smile before glancing away. "I know, I'm scared of the Daleks."

"You two, be quiet!" The soldier barked.

Yaz dropped her hand with a whispered apology. She hadn't meant to get the woman in trouble.

When she glanced up and down the line, Yaz took stock of the other women. She was probably the youngest, as the women all looked to be between twenty and forty-five, and they were all wearing formal clothes like she was. Yaz could see some familiar faces, and she gave a weak smile. No one returned it.

At the far end of the line, two Time Lords stood with their hands behind their backs. They were set apart by their clothes and demeanor; one was dressed in the regalia of the High Council—headdress and robe and all—while the other wore a Captain's uniform. Both had their faces scrunched up as they discussed something, while a human administrator followed behind them with a clipboard.

They walked down the line and occasionally stopped to ask questions of the administrator. The army captain singled out a few women as he passed them and they were told to move to the side, where a soldier stood. They were being selected for the army.

Yaz watched as, one by one, more and more women left the line. The captain did it so nonchalantly, so dismissively, it wasn't always clear he had selected someone until the administrator spoke to them. The Time Lords only bothered with Gallifreyan, so it was up to the human administrator to tell the women what to do. Yaz couldn’t help but compare them to the Doctor, who hasn’t spoken down to her or treated her with disrespect.

Yaz felt a dull anger creep into her belly. She knew it was for the best, she knew that sacrifices had to be made to fight the Daleks, but it still seemed so unjust. Here were the Time Lords, standing apart from humans and yet deciding their fate. They were practically gods.

As they made their way down the line, Yaz noticed that the women they chose were older than her, but none looked above thirty-five. When the Time Lords reached the end of the line, where Yaz stood, her heart flipped. A few words passed between the High Council member and the captain, whose eyes glanced over Yaz, before the administrator told the woman next to her to go wait with the soldier.

Yaz breathed out a sigh of relief, but it was short lived. She caught the eye of the woman now walking away from her and she felt her heart go out to her. The woman had been so scared, and now she would be on the front line. Yaz wanted to cry at the injustice of it—it wasn’t fair that the Time Lords got to dictate what happened to them, that a woman so obviously terrified now had to face her worst fears just because of some captain’s whim. She gritted her teeth, but didn’t say anything. She had to keep her thoughts to herself.

More than two thirds of the women had gone, leaving only a handful of nervous looking people. Most were either at the far end of the age range, looking to be about middle aged, while the rest were in their early twenties by the look of it. 

The administrator stepped forwards and cleared his throat. "Would the following people please follow Private Addams into the kitchen, you have all been allocated the role of domestic servant within the military or Citadel," the administrator began to rattle off a list of names and Yaz listened intently.

A job as a domestic servant didn't sound so bad—she might be stationed near the front lines, but she wouldn't be involved in any of the fighting. Yaz knew how to cook and clean, and maybe she would be able send some money back to her family. She crossed her fingers and prayed that this would be the role she was given, instead of whatever other job they had in the lottery that was allocation.

The administrator got to the end of the list, but Yaz's name wasn't read out. As the selected women were led away, she felt her heart drop into her stomach—what else could they need her for? She wasn't a mechanic or a technician or a medical professional, she hadn't even been to school.

Yas watched nervously as the Time Lord from the High Council stepped up and down the line again, his lips pursed. The administrator whispered something in his ear and he said something back in Gallifreyan, but the human didn't understand. The Time Lord repeated it in English.

"How old are they?" He gestured at the women. There were only three left, all of them under thirty and scared.

"Um... nineteen, twenty-four, and twenty-seven," the administrator said, flipping through his notes.

The Time Lord stepped towards Yaz, his eyes piercing. "How old is this one?"

"Nineteen, sir."

He turned away abruptly and Yaz let out a sigh of relief. "They'll do." 

"Right well, if you could all follow me," the administrator said. He scurried forwards, back through the doors to the reception, and gestured for the three women to follow him.

They did, hesitantly, and Yaz watched the two Time Lords walk in the opposite direction. The one from the High Council was laughing, and when his gaze caught on hers he began to laugh harder. Yaz turned away.

A hot flame of anger flickered within her and grew, but she squashed it down. No matter how hard she seethed at them, there was nothing she could do; Yaz wanted desperately to go over and give them a piece of her mind, but even with the anger egging her on she knew that was a bad idea. She sighed. There were other, more pressing things for her to worry about.

"What job have we been allocated?" Yaz asked the administrator.

"I'm not allowed to talk about it," the administrator shuffled his papers nervously. "It's top secret, on a need to know basis only."

"And we don't need to know?" Yaz snorted.

"Not yet, apparently. I only know because I'm the translator and I overheard them talking about it. You'll find out when you get to Gallifrey."

"Gallifrey?"

"Yes, Gallifrey. You'll be stationed in the Citadel," he said tersely.

The women stood in a confused group inside the reception while the administrator went up to the counter. He spoke briefly with the receptionist before being given a set of thick, brown, envelopes about the size of a sheet of paper. When he rejoined the women, he handed them each an envelope.

"Everything you need to know is in here," he said. "But don't open it until you get to Gallifrey. You could endanger yourselves and this whole operation if you do, and the pages react negatively to Earth's atmosphere, so they'll just catch fire if you open them before you leave. You'll be moved out this evening. Until then, you will be kept in the human deployment room." 

Yaz ran her hand over the envelope. Words in circular Gallifreyan were printed on one side, but she couldn't read them. She looked up at the administrator.

"What do we need all this for?"

"I don't know," he said, exasperated. "I just do the admin and translating. Now, if you could please just let the soldiers escort you to the human deployment room."

Yaz huffed as a crowd of soldiers appeared to take them away and slid her envelope into her basket. There were two per woman—far more than they needed—and Yaz couldn't help but wonder if they were there to keep them safe or to stop them running away. The soldiers led them out of the reception and through several corridors, until they came to a wide, bare room. 

On one side of the room was a set of two teleports, and on the other were three large holographic screens suspended in midair. The rest of the room was filled with wooden benches and people milling around. The soldiers led the women to the screens, asked of them each their name, and typed it into the screens. 

"Right, you're all registered," said one, a bit too happily for Yaz's taste. "Have a good afternoon, ladies." He tilted his cap at them and the soldiers moved off.

Yaz noticed that two of them stayed by the door, while another two stood outside the door on the other side. She wasn't sure where the last two were stationed, but she was sure they were close. Yaz looked around the room and spotted Graham.

"Graham!" She cried, and ran over to join him, not letting her sore ankle get in the way. He threw his arms around her and swung her around. 

"So you're not in the army, then?" He asked as he set her down. 

"No, they allocated us somewhere else, but I'm not sure where. They gave us these envelopes, too, but we're not allowed to open them yet."

The other women had sat themselves down on the benches, and Yaz took Graham to join them.

"What have they allocated you to? And why? I thought you were too old—no offence—to join the army."

"Full offence taken, Yaz," Graham said, but he was smiling. "I volunteered because I want to be close to Ryan. He's in the Citadel, so that's where I'm going. I volunteered to be a cook."

"A cook?" 

Yaz must have sounded skeptical because Graham answered immediately. “Well, they took one bite of my cheese an' pickle sarnie and they had to have me, didn't they?" He said with a wry grin.

"Hmm, okay."

"What? It's the truth!"

Yaz laughed and leaned back against the bench. She adjusted her dress slightly so it wouldn't drag on the floor and lifted her basket up to sit next to her. They didn't have to wait long, as it turned out, because after only about ten or fifteen minutes there was a strange whirring noise at the far end of the room.

Yaz looked up to see a single metal cylinder appear in the corner of the room, next to the teleports. It was small and white, with a circular grey door in the middle. It phased in and out of the room a few times before it settled into place.

"What is it?" Yaz asked.

A soldier appeared next to her and motioned for her to get up. "A Tardis, ma'am. Please board immediately."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you very much to @actuallymee for beta-ing this. I hope you all enjoy this chapter and have a good week :)


	8. On Gallifreyan soil

The ship was bigger on the inside than she thought. Yaz's mouth hung open as she looked into the console of the clinical white ship, which seemed to bend the laws of reality with its mere existence. It was the size of a small room, with doors and corridors that branched away from the centre, and in the middle was a six sided table of sorts, with more buttons and levers than Yaz had seen in her whole life. There was a strong smell in the air, like chlorine or disinfectant, and it burned the inside of Yaz's nostrils. As impressed as she was, Yaz didn't like the Tardis one bit.

The rest of the humans were herded inside, and, despite the Tardis's tricky dimensions, it got cramped fast. Yaz stood next to the wall, surrounded by the other women, Graham, and guards while six or so Time Lords kept people away from the console. They each stood at a different side and talked idly until all the passengers were aboard.

Yaz watched carefully as a guard at the door gave the Time Lords a nod and they began to push buttons. They operated the console in a calm, almost detached way—nothing like how Graham drove his horse—and never moved from their stations. Yaz felt the ground beneath her feet seem to move, but when she looked it down it was still solid. The air behind her neck was charged with static, and a low hum filled the air.

They were moving, and yet they were standing still. A slug of panic wriggled around Yaz's stomach and she felt sick. She couldn't understand what they were doing—were they really inside a ship that was bigger on the inside? Were they really moving?

The others seemed quite calm; none of them had realised they were moving yet. If they noticed the weird static in the air then they didn't say anything. Yaz concentrated on the pilots and their measured movements. In less than a minute they stepped away from the console and one moved to talk to a guard.

"Everyone, this way," said a guard by the door. He opened it up, but Yaz couldn't see what was through the door from where she stood. "You will be registered in the palace and given individual instructions from there."

The crowd began to thin as people filed out. It was slow, but eventually their group felt closer to the exit. Yaz jostled the basket in her arms and glanced at Graham. He shot her a reassuring look. "C'mon , sweetheart," he said.

She nodded and they walked out of the Tardis. In front of them was a sight Yaz knew she would remember for the rest of her life—they were inside the Palace of The High Council, surrounded by towering walls and vast echoing domes above their heads. Long, delicate glass windows stretched the length of the walls and let in the light from twin suns as they set against a red sky. In the distance, Yaz could see the Citadel, a grand, glittering city above the mountains of rolling red grass and silver leafed trees.

There was no doubting then that they'd moved. Yaz couldn't quite believe it. A new planet—a new sky—a new ground beneath her feet! She turned to Graham, but there were no words to verbalize what she felt in that moment.

Graham seemed to feel much the same, as he was silent as they looked around the hall. It was full of people, some dressed in the formal blue regalia of the Time Lords, others wearing simple red and brown servant's clothes. The walls were painted with intricate portraits and scenes from Time Lord history and myth, and lined with gold and silver detailing. A set of low marble steps led from the end of the hall to a grand staircase and balcony. Everything was made of blue and gold and marble—it was the prettiest room Yaz had ever seen. 

No one paid them much mind as they exited the Tardis, which, once empty, warped in and out of the room before it disappeared completely. Yaz stared at it, but the guard behind her ushered her along, and she didn't want to know what would happen if she disobeyed him.

They walked across the room to a set of large red double doors. The polished wood of the doors swirled in a pattern like smoke and Yaz fought the urge to touch the shiny wood. By the doors was a woman—a Time Lord, or Lady, by the looks of her—with her hair pulled back tight from her scalp and a long blue dress. 

She pushed her glasses up her nose and greeted the guards. "Are these the volunteers from Earth?"

"Yes, ma'am."

She pulled a long metal cylinder out from her sleeve. "Very well, then." She pulled the first man over and pressed the end of the cylinder against his skin. "State your name and allocation."

The man did and, when she was finished, she gestured for him to follow one of the guards and gave him some terse instructions. In only a few minutes, the woman had scanned (and presumably registered) nearly all of the humans. Graham, who was next, stepped forwards without a hint of apprehension.

"I'm Graham O'Brien, I was allocated to the kitchens as a cook."

The woman nodded and scanned him. "Follow the other new kitchen staff downstairs to your quarters. The Head Cook will greet you there."

Graham took one last glance at Yaz and brushed his hand against your shoulder. "See you soon, sweetheart."

"Graham!" Yaz couldn't help the startled cry she made as Graham left through those wide doors. There went the last shred of her home—her family—and she didn't know when she would see him again. The pain felt almost too much to bear; how could she cope with it? The slug in her stomach was no longer made of nerves but fear, and it sat like a weight meant to pull her down. 

Yaz took a deep breath. There wasn't time for panic or fear or sadness. She would have to deal with her emotions later, when she had the luxury of time. Yaz sent up a silent prayer that she would see Graham soon—hopefully, whatever role she'd been assigned would be close to the kitchens.

The first woman was called up, and, when asked for her allocation, simply shrugged and presented the envelope to her. The Time Lady raised an eyebrow. "Are these the tribute women?"

The guard nodded. 

"Take them to the interrogation rooms."

Yaz felt her eyes go wide. Interrogation rooms? What sort of a job required interrogation first?

The guards ushered the women through the doors while the Time Lord looked on. They were taken down a long, ornate corridor with a high ceiling. Balconies could be seen above them, but they weren't taken upstairs. Instead, the women were shown to a small wooden door, which led to a cramped stone staircase.

The staircase twisted down in a narrow curve, no banister to support them, and it was lit only by the light of the open door at the beginning and end of the stairs. The steps were narrow and Yaz nearly tripped as she made her way down them. At the bottom, a door opened up to another corridor, which the guards led them through.

This corridor was far less grand. It was decorated plainly, with deep red walls and a simple carpet along the stone floor, and it was full of people—servants, probably. The servants bustled around, baskets of laundry and trays of food in their hands. They hurried from room to room, all of them in a rush, and paid no attention to the confused women so obviously out of place.

Yaz stepped to the side as someone barged past her and a guard pulled her towards him, as though he thought she might wander off. Yaz huffed, but when she saw the stony look on his face she didn't say anything. They were led past many doors, some of which opened to huge kitchens while others looked more like dorms. As the women wormed their way through the corridor, the crowd thinned.

The floor began to slope slightly downwards and Yaz noticed that the doors to the side appeared less and less frequently. Eventually, there was no one else in the corridor and the group of women and guards walked alone. 

It was much darker in the corridor now. As they walked deeper into the belly of the palace, Yaz felt that now familiar fear squirm in her own stomach. The guards began to peel off and stand by certain doors, each taking a woman with them. Yaz watched them enter the rooms, directed by only a few terse orders from the guards. Yaz gulped.

After a few minutes, she was the only one left. Her solitary guard led her to the last room in the corridor, a simple red metal door with a sliding grate at about head height. The guard pushed open the door for her and beckoned Yaz inside.

Inside the room was a wooden table and two chairs that faced each other. In one chair sat a woman with big eyes and a flamboyant hat. She was dressed in purple and had the kind of crazy curly hairstyle that only a Time Lord would be confident enough to wear. The woman gestured to the seat in front of her and Yaz sat down. The door clanked shut behind her.

The woman said something in another language—probably Gallifreyan—but Yaz shook her head. 

"I'm sorry, I only speak English."

The woman sighed. She had a pen in hand and a pile of papers written in what looked like circular Gallifreyan. "State your name for the record."

"Yasmin Khan."

"Age?"

Yaz fidgeted with her sleeve, her fingers ghosting over the soft fabric and embroidery. "I'm nineteen."

"Profession?"

"Uh, I work—worked—on my family farm."

The woman hummed disdainfully. "A manual labourer, then." She wrote something down. "What is your highest level of education?"

Yax didn't like the quickfire questions or the woman's tone. "I'm not stupid, if that's what you mean."

The woman glared at her and Yaz fought the urge to flinch away. "Did you attend university?"

"No." Yaz would have laughed if she wasn't so nervous.

"That's all I wanted to know, Miss Khan." The woman's voice was stern. "Please give me your paperwork."

"You mean this?" Yaz grabbed the wide envelope from her basket and held it up.

"Yes."

Yaz handed over the envelope and watched as the Time Lord slid a thin knife along the edge of the paper. She plucked a single sheet of paper from the many nestled inside and laid it out on the table. As she read, Yaz glanced nervously between the woman and the door.

"I see...that makes sense."

"Can you tell me what role I've been allocated?" Yaz said suddenly. She was almost surprised she'd said it.

"Hush! I'm concentrating."

Yaz deflated back into her seat with a sigh. She should have known better than to expect basic manners from this Time Lord—it had become clear to her that however much most Time Lords might claim to value the Earth's place in their empire, they didn't value its citizens. At least not the ones that worked for them, anyway.

"Ms. Khan, what is your opinion on Gallifrey?"

Yaz was startled by the question, and, unlike the other questions, the answer wasn't immediately obvious to her. She couldn't tell what the woman was trying to get from her.

"Uh, it's... pretty," she said after a moment of hesitation. "The palace is really big and pretty and there's lots of people."

She prayed her answer was innocuous enough. The woman raised an eyebrow but didn't comment on it.

"And your opinion on the First Great and Bountiful Gallifreyan Empire? Be honest, please, Miss Khan."

"Uh, I don't really know much about it," Yaz said. There was no way she was going to be honest. It was best to play dumb—whatever this was, it wasn't normal. "It keeps Earth safe, though, right?"

"Yes. Your file says you've never left Earth before."

"That's right."

The woman wrote something down in a scrawl and smiled at Yaz in icy approval. Yaz felt like she was playing a game of chess blindfolded—which was a problem, because Yaz didn't know how to play chess. She fidgeted with the cuff of her sleeve and bit her lip. The woman seemed to think that Yaz was stupid, but she could use that to her advantage.

"What do you think about the war?"

"The war? Against the Daleks?" Yaz paused. "I wish the Daleks would just... leave us alone." 

"Leave you alone?" The woman's words were clipped and curt.

"Yes. They scare me."

The woman raised her eyebrow and pursed her lips. "Do you have experience with the Daleks, then?"

Yaz cursed internally. Judging by the woman's reaction, that wasn't the right answer to give. She decided to answer truthfully this time. "Yes, a few months ago I survived an attack in a town near where I live—lived."

"You made it out alive? How?"

Yaz tried not to be offended by the woman's obvious surprise. "A Time Lord saved me," she muttered. "Can I ask you a question now?"

"No, I need to look at the rest of the file."

Yaz nearly groaned, but by some miracle she held herself back. The woman took another look at the paper and a tense smile stretched across her lips. She pulled another sheet of paper from the envelope and shoved it across the table with her pen. 

"Sign it," the woman said.

"What is it?"

"That's none of your business. Just sign it."

Yaz took the pen nervously and drew a shaky 'x' on the spot where the woman pointed. She wasn't sure it was a good idea, but she was very aware of the guard by the door and the palace full of soldiers. Yaz didn’t like the thought of what would happen to her if she didn’t obey. While she signed the paper, the woman had returned to the original file.

"Yes, this is perfect." The woman stood up with a gleam in her eye. "You're perfect for it; I'll allocate you to the Lord President."

Yaz stared at her in shock. "I'm sorry, _what?" ___

__She jumped up and caught the woman rolling her eyes. "I'm allocating you to the Lord President, girl."_ _

____The Lord President?_ _ _ _

____“For what? What role have I got?"_ _ _ _

____The woman gestured to the guard by the door and turned her head away, but Yaz could still see the smirk on her face. "Your role is to be the great Lord President’s wife.”_ _ _ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ‘Sup my dudes! I hope you’re all doing good. I’ve been sick the last week and while it was not fun I did do some writing (of questionable quality). Once I edit it all I’ll be able to post an extra chapter either next week or the week after, if all goes to plan. Anyway, I hope you all have a lovely day!
> 
> Thank you to the wonderful @actuallyme for being my lovely beta. My work would honestly not be half as good without your input.


	9. The Escape

The next few minutes hadn't been pretty. Yaz had frozen in her spot as the blood drained from her face, and then she'd burst into a flurry of questions and demands. Her voice had inched louder and louder as the Time Lord walked away—she was more than content just to ignore Yaz.

The guard had stepped in then and told Yaz in no uncertain terms that she'd have to be quiet, or things would get a lot worse for her. When she saw the stony look in his eye, Yaz shut up pretty quickly. Internally, she spewed anger.

_Wife? _She thought indignantly. _The Lord President's wife? _____

____How could she be anyone's wife, let alone a Time Lord's? She knew nothing about their planet or their politics, she barely knew anything about relationships. Not that it could be much of a relationship---how could it? She was a human, she was young; Yaz could never be equal to the Lord President of all of the First Great and Bountiful Gallifreyan Empire. She felt her heart jump from her chest to her throat and back again. Her breaths were shaky and shallow. What was she, if not the Lord President's equal---a consort? A tribute? A glorified concubine?_ _ _ _

____Yaz bit her lip. She felt robbed. Her life as she expected it to be was gone, ripped away from her by this war and this merciless president. She was meant to fall in love quietly, unexpectedly, with some boy from a farm nearby, and get married when she chose to, when she was happy to leave her family. There would be a loud, colourful party and she would wear the same beautiful dress she wore now, and it would be something she was proud to wear instead of an attempt to impress the Time Lords._ _ _ _

____It would have been a nice life. A good, quiet future, one she could be sure of. Yaz would have had a little house and kind husband, maybe some children, but it would all have been her choice. That future didn't exist anymore, it had been wiped away in an instant and replaced with uncertainty and a life she had no agency in. Yaz felt how her lungs inflated and collapsed again in her ribs, a microcosm of the swelling emotions in her chest. She was angry, she was terrified, she was grief-stricken. She didn't know how to grieve for something that hadn't had the chance to exist yet._ _ _ _

____The guard had practically dragged her up the stairs and shoved her inside a different room. He hadn't stuck around to spy on her, at least, and had instead positioned himself outside her doorway._ _ _ _

____It's the small mercies, Yasmin thought as she looked around her new room._ _ _ _

____It was bigger than any of the rooms in her house—maybe even bigger than her whole house—with a small bed in the middle and some simple, yet elegant, furnishings. There were two doors, one to an en suite bathroom, and one that led back to the hall outside. The walls were painted a delicate blue, and Yaz couldn't help but press her fingers to the walls to feel the surface—she'd never lived anywhere with such smooth walls, her own house had been very uneven. It was magnificent compared to what she was used to, but she knew it held only a fraction of the decadence of the rest of the palace—and it didn't have any windows._ _ _ _

____Yasmin spent the rest of the day waiting, bored out of her mind, and running through escape plans. Perhaps, if she just thought hard enough, there would be a way to escape that didn't involve her family going to prison._ _ _ _

____Eventually, Yasmin had a plan._ _ _ _

____The first step was simple, she just had to mess up the room to make it look like there'd been a fight. She threw the covers off the bed, knocked over a chair, and opened the door to the bathroom. It wasn't super convincing, she had to admit, but the guards wouldn't expect her to put up much of a fight. Next, she banged loudly on the furniture, to make sure the guards would hear, and then slipped into the closet._ _ _ _

____There was a noise from behind the door, and then a gentle knock._ _ _ _

____"Miss?" The guard called. "Are you okay in there?"_ _ _ _

____Yasmin kept quiet. The guard knocked again, but when she didn't reply for the second time he got worried. He pushed open the door and stuck his head inside._ _ _ _

____Yaz watched him through the crack between the closet doors. She held her breath as he glanced around the room and stepped inside, ignoring the closet where she hid. When he saw that she was gone, his face completely changed. He ran into the bathroom, gun in the air, and called out loudly for her._ _ _ _

____This was her chance. Yasmin opened the door, and, as quietly as possible, slipped out of the room. Once she was in the corridor, she ran as fast as she could despite the complaints of her ankle. She knew she only had a few seconds before the guard went to go alert someone, and she had to be out of sight by then._ _ _ _

____Luckily, she had always been a fast runner—not to mention, good at ignoring pain—and by the time she heard the guard calling for back up she had reached the end of the corridor. Her feet slapped against the hard marble as she ran, her ankle throbbed and her heart felt like it was going to explode, but at least she was free._ _ _ _

____Yasmin slowed down once she was out of sight. She had to blend in with the other Gallifreyans in the palace, and running was sure to make her look out of place. She limped as fast as she could through the endless corridors and staircases, happy not to bump into anyone._ _ _ _

____The palace was a maze that Yaz had no idea how to navigate. It was full of brightly lit passageways and ornate sculptures and paintings, each depicting different moments of Time Lord history. The walls were white and decorated with painted blue and gold flowers. It was truly beautiful, but Yasmin had no time to enjoy the scenery._ _ _ _

____She figured that, so long as she kept going down, she would eventually reach the ground floor again and thus the exit. She sped down the steps, hand on the rail, and wondered when the bloody staircase would come to an end. Eventually it did, leaving Yasmin out of breath and questioning why any building, even a palace, needed more than twenty floors._ _ _ _

____She only needed to find the exit, and then she would be in the clear. Hopefully, since there were no windows in the room she'd been in, they would assume a Time Lord had kidnapped her and taken her away with a Tardis. That way, they wouldn't be looking for her in the Capitol, and she could lay low for a few days before she got off world. It would mean, as well, that her family wouldn't be in trouble, as it wouldn't be their fault that she was kidnapped._ _ _ _

____Yasmin walked quickly down one corridor and then down through the next, before she came to a hall bustling with people. She took a deep breath, her eyes wide, and dove into the crowd. It was a mix of stately looking Time Lords, Gallifreyan servants and a few guards. The servants were all dressed in different shades of red, like her, so when Yasmin joined the heaving mass of people she at least blended in._ _ _ _

____She felt her heartbeat pickup and her shoulders tense as she passed the guards, but none of them were on alert yet—and, as far as they were concerned, she was just some servant girl, albeit a well dressed one. Yaz kept her head down and quickly made her way to the end of the hall. In front of her was a group of a few servants holding baskets, who looked like they might be going outside. Yaz decided to follow them._ _ _ _

____They led her from the hall and into a small servants corridor, still painted white but with less of the intricacies. Along the corridor were many open doors, which revealed rooms full of servants in the middle of tasks, similar to the hall where the interrogation rooms had been. The servants, with Yaz behind them, walked past all the doors until they reached the end of the corridor, where a gate barred them from the outside world._ _ _ _

____One of the servants took a key from her pocket and unlocked the gate quickly before they stepped out onto the street. As they turned, one glanced behind him and saw Yasmin, his eyes lighting up with curiosity. Yasmin smiled and hurried off, not waiting for the man to ask any questions._ _ _ _

____Yasmin breathed a sigh of relief as she disappeared into the crowd. No one would look for her here, and if they did then it would be like looking for a needle in a haystack. She was safe._ _ _ _

____The only problem, of course, would be how to get off world before they started looking too closely into her disappearance._ _ _ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A somewhat shorter chapter than usual, but the next chapter is longer to make up for it. I hope you enjoy :) Many thanks to my marvellous beta, @actuallyme.


	10. Rescue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Surprise! I managed to get this chapter written and edited (thank you @ActuallyMe) in time for today, despite all the revision I currently have to do. The next chapter will be up on Monday, as always. This chapter marks the beginning of much angst for poor Yaz, which I’m having far too much fun with, if I’m honest. Anyway, I hope you enjoy it, and have a lovely day!

The Doctor sat quietly in her office. It was bigger than the previous one, with more shelves and chairs and cabinets than she thought it was possible to fill, and yet there was still a pile of overflowing papers on her desk. The Doctor twiddled her thumbs against the desk. She had so much work to do, so much to think about; there was never enough time in the day. When she was elected Lord President, she had thought that maybe she could make a difference. Now, though, the Doctor wasn't sure she had the time.

There was another war meeting scheduled for the next morning. The Daleks had broadened their attack radius and it was stretching the Gallifreyan forces thin on the ground. The Doctor had to choose between protecting all the colonies or surrendering some so she could focus their resources on the areas they couldn't afford to lose. It was an impossible decision, and the Doctor had to be ready to convince the High Council one way or the other in only a few hours.

She lent back in her chair and sighed. Neither option looked good, and in the Doctor's experience that meant she had to find another way. What other way was there, though? She couldn't magically conjure up new troops. She wasn't even sure she wanted to—the mortal price of the war had been too high already.

The Doctor glanced at the watch on her wrist. It was running on three different time scales, but the one she focused on was Gallifreyan time. It was late—very late. Too late to function, really. Maybe she should take a quick breather, a quick walk, just to clear out the cobwebs, maybe a little trip in the Tardis...

There was a sharp knock on the door. The Doctor sat up straight, eyes wide and startled.

"Come in," she called.

The heavy, ornate walls were pushed open by a guard to reveal the Interrogator—a thin, intelligent woman with big eyes and a large, flamboyant hat. The Doctor stood up as she entered, and gave her a stiff but polite nod.

"To what do I owe the pleasure?"

The Interrogator held up a thick envelope and placed it on the Doctor's desk. "I've brought you the girl's file. I think we have just the right candidate—young, uneducated, poor, loyal to the empire..."

"You think she'll be compliant, is that what you mean?" The Doctor muttered. She didn't want to hear anything about her impending marriage, the thought itself made her sick. She hated the idea that anyone would be forced into a loveless marriage on her account—especially some innocent woman from three galaxies away. Unfortunately, there was nothing the Doctor could do about it. 

"Yes, exactly," said the Interrogator, licking her lips a little too enthusiastically. "She was a little... _feisty _during the interrogation, but I suspect that was due to improper nourishment. You know how humans get when they're not fed."__

__The Doctor felt suddenly very tired. Of course she was used to hearing this kind of talk from other Time Lords, but it was exhausting. She picked up her coat and slid her arms through the holes._ _

__"Where are you going?" The Interrogator demanded as the Doctor marched towards the door._ _

__"Oh, just a quick trip to Darillium," the Doctor said, "need to keep the old Tardis running smooth. I'll be back in a jiff—don’t wait up." She winked as she shut the door behind her._ _

__"Stay here," the Doctor instructed the guards as she passed. She didn't need anyone interfering with her evening._ _

__When she got outside, it was raining. Big, fat, wobbling drops of rain flattened themselves on the ground around her and, within minutes, the Doctor was soaked through._ _

___Shoulda brought an umbrella _the Doctor thought to herself.__ _ _

____She wandered along those broad, winding streets of the Citadel, her pace slow and sluggish. There was no urgency to her; she needed time to think. Water dripped from the tall buildings onto the cobbled road, where it made the red dust turn into a thin, rust coloured mud. The sangria red grass by the side of the road drooped under the weight of the water._ _ _ _

____When the Doctor squinted ahead, she could see the shine of the mighty crystal dome that surrounded the city. Of course, the dome stopped most rain, and it required a whole team of scientists to create the artificial stuff that landed on her now, but, despite its flaws, the dome had kept them safe. If all else went to hell, then the dome would be the last line of defense._ _ _ _

____The Doctor felt the tension leave her shoulders as she walked. No one was around except for her; the streets were quiet and peaceful. There was nothing but the sound of rain and her own footsteps. The Doctor tried to smile, but the urge left her before the muscles could move. She didn't know how to fix her problems, and the only person who might have an idea was locked in a vault. A fat glob of water landed square between her eyes and the Doctor wanted to scream. If the only person she could talk to about her problems was a psychopathic mass murderer, what did that say about her?_ _ _ _

_____A lot, probably. ____ _ _ _

______She scuffed her boot against the edge of the paving. There was no use moping. What the Doctor really needed to do was think._ _ _ _ _ _

______Just then, her ears picked up on a noise from in front of her. It was a soft, muffled sound from the street corner, barely audible in the splashing rain. Someone was crying. The Doctor stepped forwards and followed the noise around the corner to see a huddled mass of red fabric leaning against the wall. Black hair spilled, wet, over the person's shoulders, and their face was completely hidden in what looked like a dress._ _ _ _ _ _

______The Doctor knelt down beside them and coughed silently to alert them of her presence. "Hello," she said gently, "are you alright?"_ _ _ _ _ _

______There wasn't any response, the only indication that the person had heard her as the way they stiffened their shoulders at the sound of her voice._ _ _ _ _ _

______"I'm not gonna go away until I know you're alright," the Doctor adjusted her knees against the hard stone of the street so that she was sat next to the person, so that they were close, but not touching. "I'm annoying like that."_ _ _ _ _ _

______There was a pause, and then the mound of wet clothes and damp hair shifted. As the hair fell away to reveal the tear-stained, red eyed face beneath, the Doctor couldn't hide her own shocked expression._ _ _ _ _ _

______"Doctor?" The voice was cracked and tired and coloured with disbelief._ _ _ _ _ _

_______"Yaz?" ____ _ _ _ _ _

________Before her was Yasmin Khan, the brave human she'd met months ago on Earth. Only in the dingy evening light, soaked in rain and dusty red mud, Yaz didn't look quite so brave anymore. She looked scared and exhausted; she looked vulnerable in a way she hadn't before. The Doctor couldn't quite believe it was the same person sitting there._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________"What are you doing here?" She asked. It didn't make sense; the Earth was galaxies away, it wasn't like Yaz had got off on the wrong spaceship._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________Yaz stared at the Doctor, her gaze was calculating. After a moment of silence, she wiped the tears from her face and straightened her back. "If I tell you, will you promise not to turn me in?"_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________"Turn you in? Why ever would I do that?" The Doctor tried to smile reassuringly. It still made no sense to her, but she was sure there was nothing Yaz could have done that required 'turning in'._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________"I...I ran away."_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________"From home?"_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________"No, from the palace."_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________The Doctor's confusion only grew. Yaz, at the palace? It seemed hard to believe. Nonetheless, she knew it was best to keep quiet and let Yaz talk. Hopefully her story would make sense when she'd explained it all._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________"They put a new draft on Earth—said everyone had to be allocated a job if they weren't necessary for farming. I was skipped over for the army, but they took me here instead and then some lady told me I had to get married."_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________"Get married?"_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________The blood within the Doctor's veins ran cold. It was like the rain had seeped into her skin and found its home inside her arteries, where it could run its icy tendrils through her body and around both her now frozen hearts. Surely, Yaz couldn't be one of the women selected...?_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________"They want me to marry some old Time Lord I don't even know, and when I tried to argue the guard threatened me and locked me in a room. I escaped but, Doctor," Yaz said, and the Doctor could see how hard she fought to keep the wobble out of her voice, "I don't know what to do."_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________The Doctor sucked in a breath and stood up. "Well, we need to get you out of this rain first, then we can figure something out from there. Yaz, do you know who it is you're meant to marry?"_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________"Yeah, the woman who took my file said something about it, but I think it was more of a recommendation? I don't know." Yaz took the hand the Doctor had offered and pulled herself to her feet. "Look, Doctor, can you... can you help me?"_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________"Of course."_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________The Doctor didn't even need to think, there was no question of it. She had committed to helping Yaz the moment she sat down and she wouldn't stop to think of the consequences. If the Doctor was found out... well, she would deal with the consequences if and when they occurred. Maybe she would anger whichever newly elected cabinet member had been allocated as Yaz's spouse, but she could find a way to manage that. She would have to._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________The Doctor took Yaz's hand and led her through the streets, the hood of her jacket drawn. As the first of the twin suns set and the city darkened, the Doctor gave a silent prayer of thanks. Hopefully, they would be indistinguishable from the shadows to anyone who happened to look out their window._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________"I'm taking you to the Rassilon's Arms—the local tavern, that is," the Doctor explained. Yaz didn't seem as surprised by the news as she was by the simple fact that the Doctor was helping her. She followed the Doctor readily, but her expression remained guarded._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________The Doctor was careful to keep them to the shadows, and to move quickly but not to run. It was best not to draw attention. Yaz's outfit, she realized, might not help them—even in the dim half-light of the evening the red was a bit too bright, the cotton a bit too finely woven for a normal servant's outfit, and it clearly wasn't Gallifreyan in origin. The dress was already heavy with embroidery before the rain weighed it down further, and Yaz carried what looked like a matching scarf in her hands. It must have come loose from her hair._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________Most Time Lords probably wouldn't be able to tell the difference between servant and formal wear for humans—they regarded both as uncultured—but if any humans looked out the window then it would surely be noticeable. A woman dressed like a human but not as a servant would definitely be memorable on Gallifrey._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________"We're nearly there," the Doctor said after what felt like an eternity but was more like a few minutes._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________"What are we going to do?"_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________"Um, not sure yet. I'll think of something, though."_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________They rounded a corner and suddenly they were looking down a short, dank, dirty little backstreet. It was less wide than the average Citadel street, and there were no windows along the building walls—it had been built many years ago, back before the city had developed any real aestheticism, and never been demolished. Tucked away at the far end was a run down, disheveled old building._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________"Ah, there it is," the Doctor said with a grin._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________Yaz looked confused. "Is that it?"_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________"Yup. My favourite play in the city; quiet, out of the way, hard to find..."_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________"It doesn't look like the sort of a place a Time Lord would hang out."_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________It was true; the Rassilon's Arms—unlike the rest of the grand, sweeping city—was old and squat and could do with a bit of a clean. A blue sign jutted out above the door, with some circular letters painted over the blue wood. The Doctor patted the door lovingly and smiled. "Yeah, the old place is a bit beaten up. I like it though."_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________"Me too."_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________The Doctor pushed open the door and stepped inside. The room was warm and dry, and cleaner than the exterior would lead you to believe. Inside, a handful of people sat at tables far away from each other, their faces lit up by warm candlelight, and a barmaid stood behind the counter, chatting to a woman sat opposite. There was a friendly, informal atmosphere, one where the Doctor could drop all of her pretenses and just be._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________"D'ya like it?"_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________"Yeah," Yaz said, slightly breathless. At least the tears had stopped. The Doctor watched as Yaz straightened herself out and wiped away the rain from her face. The look in her eyes was no longer teary but resolute—it was a bit odd to see someone put themselves back together so quickly and so visibly. The Doctor could almost hear Yaz hyping herself up inside her head._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________"I don't have much of a plan," said the Doctor. She led Yaz to a table tucked away in the corner of the pub and sat them down. "I reckon we get you off world lickity-split, put you down someone they won't bother looking, and then when the drama's all died down I can come and pick you up again and drop you back home."_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________"Sounds good to me."_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________"So, any ideas where to then?"_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________"Um..." Yaz bit her lip. "Somewhere the Daleks won't be."_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________The Doctor hummed. Across the room, the barmaid put down the tankard she was cleaning and made eye contact with the Doctor. "Maybe Darillium? Quiet, scenic, not a front line at all."_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________"Perfect."_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________Yaz loosened her posture around the back of the chair and gave the Doctor a small smile. Water still dripped from her hair and dress, but she looked a little less cold than before; the Doctor was glad she'd chosen a table near the fireplace, just so Yaz could warm up a bit. She didn't really feel the cold herself._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________"So, who did they say you were gonna marry?" The Doctor asked. She tried to sound casual about it, but she needed to know which potentially dangerous high-up Time Lord she was going to have to deal with when Yaz was safe._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________Yaz glanced furtively around, as though she was scared that one of the other patrons would be somehow close enough to listen in, before she dropped her eyes back to the Doctor's. Inside the Doctor's coat pocket, her sonic screwdriver buzzed. The Doctor ignored it._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________"There was a woman who asked me loads of questions. She said at the end of the interview that she thought I would make a good fit for the _Lord President. _" Yaz's voice dropped down an octave and the Doctor almost didn't hear her.___ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________"I'm sorry, what?"_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________"The Lord President, whoever they've elected, that's who I'm meant to marry."_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________The Doctor felt the bottom of her stomach give way as the news sunk in. The ice of the rain reappeared in her veins, half melted and slushy, ready to freeze her over. Yaz was meant to marry _her. _____ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________"Yaz, I've got to tell you something..."_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________Just at that moment, the barmaid swooped over with a tray and a dishcloth tucked into her pinafore. She was tall, young, and had pretty brown hair. "Alright, Doctor, how'd'ya do? What takes your fancy tonight?"_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________The Doctor coughed and gave a Yaz a meaningful look to keep quiet. "Uh, just a cuppa, if it's all the same to you."_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________"And for your lady friend?" The barmaid gave Yaz a sly grin._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________"What would you like, Yaz?"_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________"Tea as well, please."_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________The barmaid nodded and left them. The Doctor's cheeks were bright red when she turned back to Yaz._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________"So are you a regular here, then?" Yaz said. She laughed a little, too, and the Doctor was happy to hear it._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________"Yeah, yeah I am. Know all the staff, I do. They don't know about my job, or if they do they don't say anything, so I can come and just... be, for a while. Pretend I'm not responsible for the fate of hundreds of people for a little bit."_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________Yaz's eyes softened. "Oh," she said._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________The Doctor's coat buzzed again, but she figured it was probably just her sonic making a fuss about all the rain that'd seeped through the fabric. Nothing to worry about, not when she had this mess to deal with. She kept her focus on Yaz even when the barmaid came back with their drinks and a few teasing jibes about her 'lady friend'. Yaz fidgeted with the hem of her sleeve at that, but she didn't seem as uncomfortable about it as she had about her engagement. The Doctor wished that could last._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________"What were you going to say?" Yaz asked. "What do you need to tell me?"_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________The Doctor wrapped both hands around her mug and took a sniff of the tea. Gallifreyan tea was more purple than beige and the smell reminded her of her childhood, when she had gotten sick and the Academy nurse gave her sugary tea to drink while she sat by the fire. It was a rare untouched, happy memory, from before the Time War ruined everything._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________The Doctor sighed. She would have to bite the bullet and just tell Yaz, however much she didn't want to._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________"Um, I might-kind-of-be-the-Lord-President." The words fell out of the Doctor's mouth so quickly and quietly that they sounded more like one word than a whole sentence._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________"I'm sorry, what?"_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________"I'm the Lord President. Of Gallifrey. And the rest of the empire."_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________"You can't—but... no!"_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________She caught Yaz's eye and watched the shock, then realization, then hatred take over the poor girl's face. Just like she knew it would. The Doctor nodded grimly. "I'm sorry."_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________Yaz's face closed up, her once open expression now shuttered. The Doctor didn't know what to do; she didn't know what to say. She was great with problems and broken technology and negotiating peace treaties, but this...this was something she didn't know how to solve._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________"Why is your coat flashing?" Yaz said. Her voice was level, with no variation. That didn't keep the harsh bite out of it, though. The Doctor glanced down at her coat pocket, where her sonic was flashing orange through the fabric. She swore, loudly._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________"I think someone wants my attention."_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________"What for?" Yaz was guarded when she spoke, and the Doctor felt the pain of it in her chest. What did Yaz want from her? What was she thinking?_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________The Doctor fished the sonic screwdriver from her inside pocket and held it up. It continued to pulse with a dim orange light, and they'd attracted the attention of the barmaid and several patrons. The Doctor fiddled with the controls of the sonic, eyebrows knotted together in concentration._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________"Don't know," she said, "but if I can just... there we go."_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________She pressed a button and the light stilled and became brighter, projecting a grainy rectangle onto the wood of the table. The Doctor fiddled with the sonic some more and the image got clearer. A single figure was appeared on the screen, his features blurry._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________"Doctor," the man said in surprise. "You managed to turn on the image? I thought your communicator was broken."_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________"It is, I hooked up the system to my sonic a few nights ago when I got bored. Didn't like only getting audio, an' I didn't want to have to get a new one. Waste not want not, an' all that." The Doctor kept her voice smooth and nonchalant, even though both her hearts were racing. She could see Yaz fidgeting with the sleeve of her dress on the other side of the table, but she made sure not to let her eyes linger there. As far as the Chancellor was concerned, he had her undivided attention._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________"I see," The Lord Chancellor said. He was tall and bald, and he wore the robes of the Grand High Council. His expression changed into one of curiosity when he saw Yaz in the corner of the frame._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________"I wanted to tell you only that we have reason to believe your fiancee has been kidnapped."_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________The Doctor internally flinched at the Chancellor's words, spoken through gritted teeth and feigned respect. She schooled her own expression; she would betray no emotion to the Chancellor; she would show nothing he might consider a weakness. Instead, she ran a hand through her hair and smiled. She had to think on her feet._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________"Oh, my fiancee? Kidnapped, did you say?"_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________"The tracking system placed on her reveals that she's...nearby." His eye flickered over to Yaz, who remained dutifully silent. He knew._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________"Oh, yes, well, uh..." the Doctor scratched her head. "She's right here with me. It's an old Earth tradition, y'see, to kidnap the bride a bit before the wedding." The Doctor gave him a performative grin._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________"I'm sorry?"_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________"Yeah, yeah, for good luck. It's all a bit of fun, really, no proper kidnapping. I just thought we could hang out here for a bit before I brought her back, probably should've given you lot a heads up about that. Sorry."_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________The Lord Chancellor stared at her and blinked once, very slowly. He didn't quite seem to know how to respond. The Doctor looked down sheepishly, though she was really just trying to avoid Yaz's eye line. Yaz didn't say anything, but the Doctor could feel her resentment like it was a third person at the table. It crowded around her, stifling, ready to push her out._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________"Well, then, no harm done I suppose," the Chancellor said with a sharp edge to his otherwise placating words. "But do bring her back now. She needs to be properly prepared for the ceremony."_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________"Of course, of course. Brilliant. Will do." The Doctor stopped herself rambling before it got too obvious she was lying. She turned her sonic screwdriver off and shrunk against the table. "I have to take you back, Yaz," she said very quietly. "I'm sorry.” Doctor sighed, her shoulders slumped._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________Yaz just stared at her, her eyes full of fury. “Yeah, sure.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _


	11. Rassilon and The Fall of Pythia

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gosh, I’m tired. You’d think we had to do less tests in lock-down than before but no! Anyway, I hope you enjoy this chapter. The next one is going to be longgg so I might just split it in two if that would make for more comfortable reading? Tell me which you’d prefer, if you have a preference at all. And tell me what you think generally, too. I love reading any comments.

They left quickly, swamped with the gazes of all the other people in the pub. The Doctor led the way, hand hovering just above Yaz's shoulder as if she thought Yaz would run. Yaz, of course, knew she couldn't. It didn't matter what she did, she couldn't get away from the Time Lords—even the Doctor, who she'd trusted with her life, was as sneaky and underhanded as the rest of them. The Doctor had promised her Mum she'd keep her safe, and she'd told Yaz she would help her escape. Both were obviously lies. Yaz seethed.

The Doctor tried to talk as they walked hurriedly through the rain and towards the palace. First she apologised, and then she began to mutter under her breath. The journey really should have taken longer—Yaz had spent most of the day walking away from the palace—but the Doctor knew all the right shortcuts to take. It was infuriating.

"This shouldn't have happened..." the Doctor said, barely louder than a whisper, "....I specifically told them not to touch her..."

Yaz didn't say anything. She figured it was all probably just an attempt to manipulate her again so she wouldn't run away. It was smart, really—Yaz had bought it immediately, after all—but so, so cruel. She hadn't thought the Doctor could be like that.

As they neared the palace, the Doctor stopped and spun around. "Yaz, you have to believe me, I had no idea," she gripped Yaz's arm hard with her own.

Yaz shook her off, but kept her expression neutral."Yeah, of course," she said. Yaz knew better than to argue with a Time Lord who'd proven to be as cruel as the Doctor was.

The Doctor sighed and let her arm fall to her side. "I'll do my best, okay? I promise. I'm gonna try to find a way out of this."

Yaz didn't say anything. She knew what the Doctor's promises were worth.

Just then, someone yelled at them from a few feet away. "Over there," a guard shouted. Soon enough both Yaz and the Doctor were surrounded by them and they had grabbed onto Yaz's wrists.

They led her back towards the palace, away from the Doctor, and Yaz watched as the Doctor gave her a halfhearted wave goodbye. Her wrists were still clamped tight in the grip of a soldier on each side so she couldn't return the wave even if she'd wanted to. The concerned look on the Doctor's face was impressive—the furrowed eyebrows and the tilted, frowning jaw were so realistic Yaz wondered why the Time Lords hadn't taken up acting instead of world conquering. It might have ended better for her if they had.

The guard beside her said something to another guard and laughed. "What?" Yaz demanded. Maybe it was reckless to talk to a guard like that, but she had little to lose. 

"You're already getting all mopey without her," the guard said. "It's sweet, I guess, but stupid. You'll see her soon enough."

"I'm not mopey about her."

The guard gave Yaz an odd look. "You're lucky she cares so much about human customs. Most Time Lords wouldn't bother with your whole kidnapping thing."

Yaz almost wanted to laugh—apparently the Time Lords and the guards actually believed the Doctor's barefaced lie. Maybe that wasn't surprising; none of them seemed particularly well versed in any culture that didn't originate on Gallifrey. At least she wouldn't have to come up with a lie herself—Yaz’s emotional state was all over the place and she didn't trust herself to sound convincing.

The guards led her back into the palace and up to the same room she'd been locked in before. Yaz's feet ached and her injured ankle throbbed in time to her heartbeats. It had been a long, hard, unsuccessful day. 

The guard opened the door and, when Yaz had begrudgingly gone through, he slammed it behind her. Yaz heard the click of the lock as she sat on the bed. It was soft and big, bigger than she would have expected, and Yaz couldn't help but relax into it. She knew it was late and that whatever they had planned for her, there was nothing she could do about it at that moment. Instead, Yaz lifted the long, damp dress over her shoulders and let it fall to the ground.

She didn't bother to change into her night clothes, she just lay back on the bed in her cotton shift. Yaz was tired and sore, and she soon fell into a fitful, restless sleep.

***

When she awoke her eyes stung and her limbs ached. She thought that, given how soft and warm the bed was, she might have gotten a better night's sleep. Yaz was very wrong.

As she pulled herself out of her uneasy rest—slowly, and with no small amount of disgust—Yaz realised what had woken her. The room was noisy, the door was open. She was not alone.

"Oh, you're awake," a young girl said. She was far too bright and cheery for how early it must have been. "Nice to meet you, I'm Astrid, we're just here for the measuring."

"The measuring?"

"Yes, for the wedding dress."

The girl—or maybe woman, she seemed to be somewhere between seventeen and twenty—was tall and lithe, with blonde hair and a well tailored red dress. Yaz assumed she was human just because she'd spoken in English, though the fact that she'd spoken to Yaz at all was enough of a clue.

The rest of the people in the room—two women and a man—looked human enough too, at least, judging by the lack of Time Lord robes. One woman had dark hair and a severe face, the other wore thick rimmed glasses, and the man was tall and lean. They chattered away, sometimes in English and sometimes in Gallifreyan. They were all pretty native, but Yaz didn't understand a word. She scowled. Her situation was bad enough without four other people barging in and dragging her out of bed.

"Well, dear, if you wouldn't mind just getting up quickly," Astrid said. She held a tape measure in one hand and a small device in the other. "We just need to take a few measurements."

Yaz didn't move. "I don't see why. I've already got a wedding dress." She nodded at the still-damp red dress that lay crumpled on the floor. Sure, it didn't look like much just then, but her family had worked so hard on it and it really was the most beautiful thing she owned. Yaz couldn't imagine a world where she wore anything else to her wedding, even if said wedding was a complete and utter sham. 

Of course, the only world she'd imagined at all was Earth, and this was Gallifrey. The same rules did not apply.

"You mean this thing," the man touched the dress gingerly with his toe. "You really are from the outer-skirts, aren't you? Well, it's out of the question. The Lords would have our heads if we let you walk down the aisle wearing that."

"The Lords?" Yaz asked sleepily. She was trying to gauge how successful she'd be if she argued with the tailors.

"They're a division of the Grand High Council," said Astrid. Yaz couldn't tell if the look she gave was one of pity or sympathy. It didn't really matter. 

The dark haired women snorted. "I guess you don't learn much about anything back on Earth, huh?"

"I know plenty about lots of things, thank you very much."

"But not about wedding dresses or politics, apparently."

"Why would anyone need to know about things on Gallifrey when they lived on Earth? I hardly thought I would end up here!"

"Alright, alright!" Astrid put her hands up and gave the dark haired woman a warning look. "You don't need to know about any of that stuff, don't worry. We'll sort out the dress for you."

Yaz blinked her eyes slowly in an attempt to keep them dry. It worked, mostly. "I don't want a new dress."

"No?" Astrid hummed. She was doing something on the device in her hand, but she wasn't listening.

"No. I want to go home."

They all burst into laughter at that—even Astrid had to bite back a smile. The man slapped his knee and the woman with glasses went bright red. "Why would you want that? You have no idea how lucky you are."

"Shh, Rickston, she's obviously joking."

"I'm not," Yaz said, but no one heard her.

Astrid finished whatever she was doing on the device and sighed. "Please, can you stand up now. We really have a lot to be doing. We haven't exactly been given a lot of time."

When Yaz didn't move the dark haired woman took her by the shoulder and yanked her up. The covers fell away from her and Yaz was dragged to the side of the bed. She froze. Her heart beat tripled and her mouth went dry as her shoulder ached.

Did she have no autonomy left? Was Yaz to be dragged from one planet to the other with no say for the rest of her life? They were forcing her to marry a liar, to stand by a Time Lord's side in a dress that broke away from every tradition she'd ever valued or loved. She had no choice, no say, she had been torn away from every sense of identity she had. Yaz shook—with rage or fear, though, she didn't know.

Her body was no longer her own. The tailors could do whatever they liked if she didn't comply, and the Time Lords as good as owned her. They'd even put a tracking device on her— in her, _in her own body! _—and Yaz didn't even know when they'd done it. That was enough to make her angry. That was enough to make her scared.__

__Yaz had to escape. She had to try again. She couldn't think how, though, when she was so closely guarded and had exhausted her only viable plan. The guards wouldn't fall for the old kidnapping trick again. No, Yaz would have to bide her time. She had to find a way to escape that would actually work—one that didn't involve anyone who might betray her._ _

__Yaz stood, slowly, and maintained wary eye contact with the dark haired woman. She flinched when the woman moved towards her._ _

__"I'll do it," Astrid said. She gave Yaz a sympathetic smile. "Just hold your arms up for me, that's a dear."_ _

__Yaz held her arms up and waited patiently while Astrid measured her and called out the figures for the others to jot down. She knew she would have play along, so she stayed silent even as Astrid's fingers pinched against her skin. Yaz needed time to come up with a plan._ _

__"So, what sort of thing would you like?" Astrid asked. "Of course, purple is traditional—I can't see them changing that—but maybe you'd like to choose something special for the lining? Silk? Velvet? What about the colour?"_ _

__Yaz stared at her in shock—those kinds of materials were worth more than her family's house. She wasn't even sure she'd seen it being worn by anyone other than the handful of Time Lords she'd met. Yaz didn't know what to say. It felt almost wicked to spend so much on a single dress when there was a war on._ _

__"I like red," Yaz said. She hadn't given it much thought before. Red dye was cheap and most of her clothes were coloured with it. Maybe it would be comforting to have something familiar, if she hadn't managed to escape by then._ _

__"Hmm, I can work with that," Astrid smiled. "And do you prefer the myths of Rassilon or the fall of Pythia?"_ _

__"Huh?"_ _

__"For the embroidery. We're going to embroider scenes from mythology and history onto your dress. Whichever you choose will be very symbolic."_ _

__"Umm," Yaz wished she had any idea what Astrid was talking about. Or that she could just wear the prettily embroidered dress her family had made for her. The embroidery on that had seemed complex to her before—a true testament to the skill of her parents, who had dedicated many nights to working together by the fireside for its completion—but the type of thing Astrid was describing? That was on a whole other level._ _

__She could use her dress as a base, though. "Can you do something with birds and flowers? Swallows, specifically. Please."_ _

__Astrid brought her hand up to her face and tapped her thumb against her chin. "Hmm, there are a few myths to do with Rassilon's first term that have birds in them... if we emphasized the birds it could add a nice gentle nuance to the whole power metaphor..."_ _

__Yaz nodded grimly. Of course it came down to power, of course even a wedding dress could be made into a political statement. Perhaps she shouldn't have been surprised—the whole wedding was political, after all—but it was still too much to wrap her head around._ _

__It was easier, Yaz realised, to just pretend this was someone else's wedding. It was happening to someone else—some poor, unfortunate person who _was not her _—and she just had to focus on escape. Escape. That was all that mattered. She could pretend to care about a wedding dress when she was safe and happy back home.___ _


	12. The Vault

The next few days were long and sluggish. Yaz was all but a prisoner in her room, her waking hours dictated by the steady stream of attendants who wanted to see her for the wedding preparations. Mostly, they needed to check her robes would fit, though they also began to ply her with syrupy skin creams and soft smelling perfumes so that she would fit whatever standard of beauty rained supreme on Gallifrey. Yaz didn't like that one bit.

The one reprieve she had were the walks around the palace that the guards took her on twice a day. Although the strict structure of her day made her feel more like a dog than a person, at least she was able to leave the room and the snobbish, bustling attendants behind for an hour or two. They would walk around the palace in silence, pace slow and steady, before the guards would lead her back to her room.

Yaz knew this was exactly the kind of opportunity she could use to her advantage. Even though her ankle, still slightly sore, protested at the end of each day, she begged the guards to let her walk around for as long as possible. They let her, for the most part, not knowing that Yaz was using the opportunity to map out the palace in her head. 

She'd always had a good sense of direction—you have to, when you've lived most of your life in the middle of nowhere—but the foreign architecture and long winding halls of the palace had thrown her off in the beginning. After two or three days, however, she began to get a sense of the building. The servant's quarters, dungeons and other, less desirable things were situated below her room, though Yaz only ever visited as far down as the servant's quarters when walking. The higher you went in the palace, the more high status each room was. Right at the top of the palace, the guards told her, was the hall where the Grand High Council had their meetings.

Yaz didn't care about that, though. Her chances of escape were dependent on stealth, speed, and a good knowledge of the palace. If she could figure out a route through the servant's quarters like last time, but quicker, then she could make it outside in time to disappear. The Time Lords would have to cancel the wedding and the _Lord President _—Yaz refused to think her name—would just have to make do without a wife.__

__***_ _

__The tailors came to see her everyday. They measured her, pulled shirts and shifts and scarves over her to check they fit, and tutted away the whole time. The only one Yaz could hold a conversation with was Astrid, who at least seemed to care a bit about her opinion. Yaz was painfully aware that she had no idea about half the wedding preparations that seemed to be going on._ _

__"How are you doing today, Yaz?" Astrid said as she entered the room. The three others—Rickston, Peth, and the woman with the thick glasses, whose name Yaz hadn't learnt yet—followed behind with a pile of neatly folded clothes in each of their hands._ _

__"Terribly. How are you?"_ _

__"Oh, you know how it is—lots to do, never enough time to do it. Your dress is coming along marvelously, though. We've just started on the embroidery."_ _

__Yaz hummed. She preferred not to think about the dress. "What do you need me to do today?" She asked._ _

__"Well," Astrid's eyes glinted. "We've been working so hard—round the clock, you know—and we've managed to squeeze in enough time between alterations to make you some lovely new clothes!"_ _

__"You care a lot about clothes, huh?"_ _

__"Yes, and travelling. My two main passions."_ _

__Yaz stood awkwardly in the centre of the room while the tailors fussed over her. Rickston held up a simple green undershirt and dress made of thin, almost translucent cotton. It was beautiful, the colour of the limes that grew in her family's garden in the summer, and there was a silky emerald sash to tie around the waist. Yaz watched as Rickston held up the dress and tutted, his eyebrow creased in the centre of his forehead._ _

__"I prefer the satin," he said. Peth nodded in agreement._ _

__"What do I need all these clothes for?" Yaz asked._ _

__"Well, you can't wear your wedding dress everyday," Rickston snorted._ _

__"No, obviously not. But I don't see why I'd wear this many fancy clothes."_ _

__"Fancy? Oh deary me, no! These are for your everyday. We can't have the wife of the Lord President wearing any old thing."_ _

__Yaz hated that every time she opened her mouth there was someone set to laugh at her. It wasn't her fault she'd grown up on a different planet. Luckily, at least Astrid seemed to understand her concern._ _

__"The Lord President's wife isn't just married to the Lord President, they're like... a symbol for the whole planet, for the whole regime, if that makes sense. This time period won't just be remembered for the political leaders, but for the social leaders, like you. How well you're treated is a reflection back on the whole society."_ _

__"So I'm a symbol of wealth, basically."_ _

__"Yeah, and moral strength. If you're unhappy then it's seen as a moral failing on the whole planet's half."_ _

__Yaz couldn't help but laugh. The whole situation felt almost designed to make her unhappy. It had been made abundantly clear that her happiness had nothing to do with the equation—all that they needed was her compliance. Like with most of the so-called symbolism she had encountered while on Gallifrey, this was a farce._ _

__Astrid handed her a white blouse with flouncy sleeves and bid her put it on over her shift. Yaz obliged without complaint. She'd grown used to being used as a dress-up doll in the past few days, and the lack of privacy no longer bothered her. All sense of autonomy had been stripped away from her. She was used to distancing herself from the situation._ _

__In all honesty, Yaz kind of liked the daily visits from the tailors. They were rude and dismissive—save for Astrid—but at least they were company. She'd started to get lonely when they left her with just her thoughts for the night._ _

__Astrid passed her a silky orange dress with a red collar to go over the shirt. It was soft under Yaz's fingers and she slid it over her shoulders easily enough. It was so lightweight it was like nothing had been put on. Yaz looked down. The dress was beautiful and fairly simple, leaving the white shirt and its sleeves exposed. It reached midway to her calves and was drawn in around the waist with a red sash._ _

__Astrid stepped closer so she could adjust the collar. She looked down at Yaz, eyes filled with something Yaz couldn't name. Pity, perhaps, but she couldn't be sure. The other tailors sat in the corner, enthralled in a discussion about the wedding dress. They paid no attention to Astrid or Yaz._ _

__"Astrid, can I ask you a favour?" Yaz's voice was low._ _

__Astrid nodded._ _

__"Can you bring me something a bit... simpler. Servant's clothes, please. Just to borrow."_ _

__Astrid gave her a shrewd look; Yaz was whispering too quietly for this to be an innocent request. She nodded again. "I can bring you... something," she sighed, "but I won't help anymore than that. I'll turn a blind eye, that's all."_ _

__"That's all I need."_ _

__Astrid nodded and stepped away._ _

__***_ _

__Yaz stood awkwardly by the door, trying to hype herself up. She wore a simple, worn red uniform—not that different from the clothes she wore at home—and a brown apron over it. Her hair was tied in a stiff bun and on top of it was a thin red veil, just thick enough to obscure her face._ _

__Astrid had come back that evening under the guise of needing new measurements, and she'd brought the filched maid's uniform with her. She'd wished Yaz good luck and then she disappeared, eager not to incriminate herself. Yaz didn't blame her._ _

__So, Yaz had a plan; she knew roughly how to get from her room to the servant's quarters, and from there outside of the palace. She had a disguise and it was late in the evening, so no one was likely to check on her for some time. Admittedly, there was a slight chance that the guards would recognize her when she left the room, but Yaz had kept a close eye on them and she knew the usual guards would have left and been replaced by new people for the night. The night guards had likely never seen her before. For all they knew, she was just some maid._ _

__Yaz took a deep breath. Bravery was easier the first time around, when she didn't have one failure already looming over her head. This time she had to make the escape stick, there wasn't any room for another failure._ _

__Yaz straightened her shoulders and opened the door. The guards—two of them, neither of which she recognised—stood outside. They turned their attention to her as she walked out of the room._ _

__The sound of her heartbeat thundered in her ears. Yaz felt a small bead of sweat drip down the back of her neck. The guards examined her, but they didn't ask her to stop._ _

__"Are you an attendant?" the woman on Yaz's right said, "I thought they'd all left."_ _

__"No, it took longer than expected to, uh, finish up." Yaz tried to make her voice a few octaves lower, just in case._ _

__"Very well." The guard waved her away, already bored._ _

__Yaz felt her shoulders sag with relief as she passed. That was almost too easy. Now all she had to do was get out of the palace._ _

__Yaz passed through the long hall, her feet falling into the same pattern of steps she'd made in the daytime. Everything was dark, but she wasn't alone; servants moved stealthily from room to room, she even saw the occasional official muttering at the end of a corridor. Yaz wondered if they might be up to no good, but she didn't much care. She was in the middle of an escape, after all, and that could definitely be classed as 'up to no good'._ _

__The trick was to be confident. Yaz walked with purpose, not too fast, and kept her shoulders back but her head bowed. She was the picture of demure._ _

__It was dark and cold; the shadows were as much a part of the wall as the paint and any lights were few and far between. The palace was different without the light of the twin suns, it held less grandeur and more secrets. It was an easy place to hide in._ _

__Yaz turned around one corner and then the next until she reached a narrow staircase. She'd passed it earlier that morning while guarded, but hadn't gone down it. The guard with her—a nice enough man with a thick mustache—had told her it led to the servant's quarters. Yaz checked no one was watching and ducked into the staircase._ _

__It was narrow, each step about half the size it should have been, which made the task of not falling on her face pretty difficult. Despite that, Yaz reached the bottom after only a minute, slightly out of breath. She ignored the slight throb in her ankle—it wasn't bad enough to be an issue quite yet—and stepped out into the corridor._ _

__She wasn't where she was expecting to be. Yaz looked up and down the dark passageway, but even in the dim light she could tell this was too fancy for the servant's quarters. She furrowed her eyebrows in confusion and began to look for another staircase._ _

__It didn't matter; so long as she kept going down she'd reach the servant's quarters. The layout of the palace was confusing, but in that moment Yaz thanked her lucky stars for the Time Lord's love of symbolism and distaste for their workers. It made the whole place a lot easier to navigate._ _

__She found another staircase pretty quickly and began the descent downwards. This one, while still narrow, was made of stone and curled round in a seemingly endless spiral. It led down and down and down, with doors every few flights that led to corridors that never turned out to be the servant's quarters._ _

__Yaz swore as she opened another door to reveal a row of cells. It wasn't fair—she’d been so sure of the route, she should have been out of the palace by then. Something was wrong._ _

__Down she traveled, deeper and deeper into the bowels of the building. If the Time Lords put all the worst stuff lower down, Yaz didn't want to think about what was at the bottom of the palace. Perhaps the Time Lord's love of symbolism wasn't such a good thing after all._ _

__There was a distinct chill in the air as she walked quickly down the staircase, her steps ringing out in the ghost-quiet night. Yaz felt her skin prickle and her back tense up. Maybe she needed to stop a moment and figure out what was going on..._ _

__In front of her was a door. There were no more stairs._ _

__Yaz felt unusually nervous as she lifted her hand to the doorknob. The iron was cool to the touch, but that wasn't why she shivered. The air was still and tense, its own sentient presence around her. Something rattled on the staircase above her and sent her heartbeat into overdrive. Yaz pushed open the door and stepped inside._ _

__The tension snapped as the door swung open. In front of Yaz was a corridor lined with dusty looking doors. Only one door, the first, looked like it had been touched anytime in the last decade._ _

__Yaz felt her feet moving almost without her permission. They led her down the corridor, past each shadowy door and towards the metal wall at the end. As Yaz approached, she realised it, too, was a door, lined with complex Gallifreyan letters and ominous blinking lights. The top was arched and panels with spikes in the centre complimented the unknowable writing. The door called out to her quietly, like an itch that needed to be scratched, something not quite good or bad, or even existing on that spectrum—the door hid something that defied moral codes, but was nonetheless fascinating._ _

__The corridor had ended and now Yaz was faced with the single strangest thing she'd seen on a planet full of oddities. She lifted her veil to get a better look. It was not the design or strange location that made the door so weird, it was the way it seemed to pull in the gravity from the corridor and focus all of Yaz's attention on it. She couldn't look away. Slowly, Yaz reached out her hand to touch the surface, her fingers were so close, just about to graze the thrumming metal..._ _

__A strong hand pulled her back from behind, leaving her a few steps from the door. Yaz screamed, her heart already fast and her spine already clamped with fear, and spun around to see who'd touched her._ _

__"You shouldn't be here, it's not safe," said a soft, firm voice. _The traitor. _Yaz's eyes went wide and her hands started to shake.___ _

____Two formally dressed Time Lords stood behind the Doctor, their faces twisted into matching scowls._ _ _ _

____"Nowhere on this planet is safe," Yaz said. There was a vicious, unfamiliar bite to her words. However scared she might be, something about what the Doctor had said touched a nerve._ _ _ _

____"Don't speak to your lord President like that, girl," one of the Time Lords said. His voice dripped with disgust._ _ _ _

____Yaz snorted. The adrenaline in her was making her brave, or stupid. "Yeah, well, it's true, ain't it?"_ _ _ _

____She didn't even have time to see the slap before it hit her and sent her reeling. Yaz landed roughly on the floor, her cheek smarting. She clutched a hand to her face and fought back the tears brewing in her eyes._ _ _ _

____"You absolute—" Yaz pushed herself to her feet. Her legs were scraped from the floor and she had her teeth gritted from the anger begging to spew out from her chest._ _ _ _

____The Doctor stepped between Yaz and the smirking Time Lord, her shoulders hunched protectively. "Don't hurt her."_ _ _ _

____"She's a servant and she needs to be disciplined."_ _ _ _

____"Not like that."_ _ _ _

____Yaz seethed, but the moment of rash anger had gone—fear had overtaken temper as her most intense emotion and she knew the game was up. She had been caught._ _ _ _

____The Doctor glanced back towards her, wide eyes searching for something in Yaz's face. Whatever it was she must have found it, because when the Doctor turned back to the Time Lords she did so with a new resolve._ _ _ _

____"This place does weird things t'you."_ _ _ _

____"What were you doing down here, anyway? It is clearly out of bounds."_ _ _ _

____Yaz gulped. She would have to come clean or the Doctor would do it for her, and she wasn't sure she could survive the embarrassment. "I, uh—"_ _ _ _

____"Probably just got lost, right?" the Doctor interrupted her. "Don't think I've seen you around before... the Palace has a mind of its own when it comes to geography, makes sense you'd get lost if you're new at the job."_ _ _ _

____Yaz didn't know what to say. The Doctor was lying for her. Again. Surely she'd figured out what Yaz was doing, surely she knew Yaz was trying to run away._ _ _ _

____"Is that it, then?"_ _ _ _

____Yaz nodded. "Yeah, that's what happened. I didn't know the corridors were meant to move."_ _ _ _

____The other Time Lord, who, until then, had kept quiet, laughed. "You must be very new then. Perhaps we should show the girl out? I've checked on prisoner zero's life signs already, we can leave now."_ _ _ _

____The Doctor hesitated. She rocked back on her heels with a slightly annoyed expression. "There were some things I wanted to check... never mind. I can do them later. 'S more important you're safe."_ _ _ _

____The Doctor stood awkwardly next to Yaz and beckoned for her to start walking. Yaz reluctantly complied. Her cheek still stung and now she was back to square one, or worse—Yaz didn't want to think about what the Doctor would do to punish her for this._ _ _ _

____They began the journey back up the stairs, the Doctor in front with Yaz just behind. The other two Time Lords grumbled in Gallifreyian, but Yaz didn't pay attention. Instead, her mind raced with ways to get out of her predicament. Nothing came up. Yaz would have to rely on the Doctor's apparently charitable mood._ _ _ _

____"You do realize they put a tracking system on you, right?" the Doctor whispered so low Yaz could barely hear it. "Soon as you leave the palace the Lord Chancellor gets an alert an' half the guards are 'round Gallifrey looking for you."_ _ _ _

____Yaz fought the urge to swear. "I was being optimistic."_ _ _ _

____"Yeah, well, if you're lucky your personal guards won't have noticed yet. How long've you been gone?"_ _ _ _

____"Bit less than an hour, I think. What are you going to do to me?"_ _ _ _

____"Do to you?" the Doctor glanced at her, disgusted. "I'm not gonna do anythin' to you, Yaz."_ _ _ _

____Yaz scowled. It was clear she didn't believe the Doctor. "We're not friends."_ _ _ _

____"Yasmin, sorry," the Doctor winced, "I promise, I'm not gonna hurt you." Her voice was soft._ _ _ _

____They reached the top of the staircase and the Doctor gestured for Yaz to follow her. She let the other Time Lords go with a whisper and raised eyebrow that Yaz didn't even want to consider the meaning of. When they were alone, she slowed down to match Yaz's pace._ _ _ _

____You okay?" the Doctor asked._ _ _ _

____Yasmin shrugged._ _ _ _

____The Doctor reached up to touch the side of Yaz's face, right where the Time Lord had hit her. The skin had darkened a bit and it still stung; Yaz kind of hoped it would bruise—that way she'd have a physical point to pivot her anger towards. The Doctor's touch was gentle, a thumb tracing over sore skin, but Yaz still flinched away. The Doctor dropped her hand._ _ _ _

____"I'm sorry he did that."_ _ _ _

____Yaz didn't reply. She didn't know what to say._ _ _ _

____"You can't talk like that to Time Lords, Yasmin. They will hurt you," the Doctor said._ _ _ _

____"They've hurt me already."_ _ _ _

____The Doctor frowned. For a brief moment, her face showed all the guilt and hurt that sentence brought her, but then she covered it up. The Doctor's eyes hardened. "This isn't the time to be stubborn; this is... this is a different game, Yasmin. You've got to be careful. I won't be able to stand in the way next time."_ _ _ _

____Yaz narrowed her own eyes and felt her lip twitch upwards. "That sounds like a threat." It was easier to focus on the Doctor's hypocrisy than on the very real danger Yaz's non-compliance had caused._ _ _ _

____"It's not. It's just a fact—you’re gonna have a hard time of it if you don't find a way to either actually escape or to follow Time Lord protocol. I reckon you should focus on that last one until one of your little escape plans works."_ _ _ _

____Yaz glared at the Doctor, but she kept her mouth sealed. The anger that bubbled up inside her threatened to boil over, so she squashed it down. However much she might have wanted to, she couldn't storm off into a palace that constantly shifted around._ _ _ _

____"I can take you to the exit," the Doctor said, "but I don't know how to disable the tracking device from here." The Doctor's voice was resigned. Despite what she said, Yaz felt a flicker of hope. Maybe the Doctor had a reason to help her leave, maybe her escape plan wasn't over just yet._ _ _ _

____"Couldn't I just cut it out?" Yaz asked._ _ _ _

____"Only if you fancy a fifty-fifty chance of success or fatal hemorrhage."_ _ _ _

____Yaz scuffed the toe of her boot against the floor. In the distance she could hear urgent whispers and pacing. Yaz looked up and saw the guards outside her room. She realized what the Doctor had done, what the Doctor would always do; the Doctor would always keep her trapped there._ _ _ _

____"You've taken me to my room."_ _ _ _

____"Yeah. Looks like the guards have noticed you're gone."_ _ _ _

____Yaz couldn't help the sting of betrayal in her chest. It was stupid; it was naive and idiotic and brainless, but Yaz had hoped—just for a second—that maybe the Doctor might actually help her. She wanted to kick herself. Or maybe the Doctor. Or maybe both._ _ _ _

____"I can still take you to the exit, they 'aven't spotted you yet. Your choice."_ _ _ _

____Yaz laughed. She knew the Doctor's game now—whatever this was, whatever the Doctor was pretending to do, it wasn't for Yaz's sake. It was manipulation or something, it was meant to trick her into something that she'd no doubt regret. The only safe option was not to play, at least until she'd figured out what the Doctor's game was._ _ _ _

____"I'm not stupid, _Doctor _," hissed Yaz, "and I don't care if you tell the rest of your lot."___ _ _ _

______The Doctor flinched._ _ _ _ _ _

______"It's no secret I don't want to be here."_ _ _ _ _ _

______"No, it isn't," the Doctor sighed, "I'll come with you to explain to the guards, then."_ _ _ _ _ _

______Yaz wanted to tell her that she wasn't some pet or little plaything that had to be accounted for—the Doctor didn't own her, didn't need to give her permission to leave—but the words died on her lips. They weren't true, Yaz realised. She didn't want to face the guards alone, anyway, and so long as the Doctor continued to play along with _her _game, then she was fine.___ _ _ _ _ _

________They walked quickly and quietly up to the guards—close together, as if they were friends. When the guards noticed them, the Doctor threw her arm around Yaz's shoulder and gave them a grin. Yaz gritted her teeth and fought the urge to shake off the hanging arm._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________"Alright, you lot?" the Doctor said, happy as a lark. Yaz could see the pretense behind her eyes, though. "You look like you're in a spot o' trouble."_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________"Lord President." Both guards immediately knelt down._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________The Doctor gestured for them to stand. "What's got you all worked up, then?"_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________One of the guards coughed. "Uh, your fiancee is, at the moment, unaccounted for."_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________"No she isn't, she's right here."_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________Both guards turned to look at Yaz, dressed like a servant with the Doctor's arm draped over her shoulders. Yaz did her best to look sheepish. Internally, though, she was annoyed that the guards now had a good idea of what she looked like, so she couldn't sneak past them again. Escape was becoming harder by the minute._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________"But—she—"_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________"Just popped out for a bit of a late night stroll, that's all. I asked her to. No worries, yer not in any trouble." the Doctor winked at them. "I won't tell if you don't."_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________The guards nodded quickly._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________"Now, if you could just let my fiancee back into her room, I'd be much obliged. And if she needs to meet me again before the wedding, maybe give us some privacy? You know how it is."_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________Yaz wanted to puke when the Doctor gave the guards a coy smile—she had to hand it to her, the Doctor was a very good actor. The guards opened the door for her quickly and Yaz sidled through. The Doctor gave her a last cheery wave and smiled goodbye._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________"See ya later, Yasmin."_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________"Yeah, see ya.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hiya, I hope you enjoyed the chapter—it’s a bit longer than usual, but I’ll go back to the normal length next time. I hope you have a lovely day :)


	13. The Procession

Yaz blinked at the bright artificial light in her room. It was early—too early—and she was still tired from her escape attempt the night before. The door was slightly opened and as Yaz sat up, the four tailors and several others entered the room.

"What are you doing here?" Yaz asked. She rubbed her hand against her eye and pushed herself out of bed. Usually, the people organizing the wedding would wait until at least after breakfast to bother her, but Yaz was certain it was still night.

Astrid frowned. "We're here to get you ready, Miss Khan."

Yaz noticed how straight Astrid stood and how formally she was talking. Behind Astrid were two Time Lords, dressed in heavy robes, and Yaz suddenly understood Astrid's stiff movements. It wouldn't do to address the Lord President's fiancee by her first name, after all.

Yaz scowled. "Get ready for what?" she asked.

Astrid laughed nervously. "For the wedding, of course." She lent over to whisper. "Did they not tell you? A colony was lost and the Chancellor moved the date forwards to more quickly stabilise the government."

"Oh." Yaz didn't know what to say. She didn't know what to do. She was about to marry the Doctor and no one had even told her.

"Right," said one of the attendants, dusting her hands against her apron. "If you'd just go into the bathroom, then we can get started."

Yaz nodded and followed her into the adjacent room. She knew that, technically, it wasn't anything to do with the woman or any of the other attendants that followed them into the bathroom, but Yaz still had to fight the urge to do something stupid. She wanted to lash out and shout and fight. She kind of wanted to bite them, too.

Despite her anger, Yaz was still exhausted. She yawned as she stepped onto the shiny metallic stone of the bathroom floor. Her eyes still stung from lack of sleep and when she lifted her fingers to her cheek it was still a little sore. Yaz could only hope no one would comment on it.

At the far side of the room was a large bath with a white, almost invisible panel on the wall to draw water from, and there was a tall metal stand along the side with a basin on top. The woman drew up a chair next to the basin and told Yaz to sit. She was a tall, large woman, dressed in neat but not especially fancy clothes, and her greying hair was pulled into a bun at the nape of her neck.

Yaz sat down and bent her head over the edge of the basin. The metal was cool and hard against her skin but she didn't complain. It wasn't like they were going to listen, anyway.

The woman—who introduced herself as Mara—hummed as she poured cold water over Yaz's head. Yaz sucked in a breath and counted to twenty as the cold numbed her scalp and dripped into the basin, where it presumably disappeared. She couldn't see where it came from or where it went, but Yaz didn't understand Time Lord technology, let alone their plumbing. 

Behind her, two attendants helped Mara in her work; they handed her combs and glass vials full of lightly coloured and sweet smelling water. Her hair was pulled out and de-tangled, braided and rubbed in oils, piled on top of her head and washed in a liquid even lighter than water. 

Mara's hands were strong and capable—more than capable of pushing Yaz's shoulders back down whenever she squirmed—but the constant touching and interfering made Yaz uncomfortable. Her hair was long and she'd always cared for it herself; it was very private to her. Back on Earth it was incredibly taboo to touch the hair of someone outside of your family, since no one was really rich enough to go to a barber or anything similar. Yaz couldn't even remember the last time she let Sonya plait her hair.

Despite that, Yaz remained silent. She was pliable and pliant; obedient, even. It was easier just to zone out and pretend none of it was happening to her than to deal with the raging sea of emotions inside her. Choppy waves of anger and guilt and fear writhed within Yaz, threatening to spill out, so she clamped down on all her feelings and refused to let any of them go. She would not do anything to make this situation worse for herself.

Mara poured something that smelled of roses onto Yaz's hair and combed her fingers through to spread it out. The smell filled the room, gentle as it was, and gave everything an ethereal, almost bubbly effect. Yaz wondered if Time Lords put mild hallucinogens in their perfumes or if it was just the fact that she'd rarely smelt good quality perfume before.

"Right, you can sit up now," Mara said. She pushed Yaz forwards and laid the end of her damp hair in the basin. A silky towel was handed to Mara by one of the attendants and, once Yaz's hair was dry enough, they began the process of styling it into a sleek and intricate bun. Sparkling clips and hair combs were pushed into Yaz's hair, each tasked with holding up sections of it. 

When they were finally done, an attendant held up a mirror for Yaz to see. The hairstyle was pretty and neat, with a silver comb encrusted with brilliant red rubies sticking out the back. Yaz didn't know how to feel. It was beautiful, of course, but so foreign to what she was used to. The person who looked back at her from the mirror was a stranger.

"Do you like it?" the attendant said. She was young—as young as Yaz, maybe younger—and she had chatted quite happily with the other attendants while Mara saw to the main body of the work. It struck Yaz that, to them, this was a happy occasion. It was something she was meant to celebrate.

"Yeah," said Yaz with a small smile. She couldn't bring herself to upset the girl, who grinned at Yaz's response.

They spent a few more minutes applying some sort of silver shimmery dust to Yaz's cheeks and painting what looked like bloody water onto her lips before the attendants let her leave the bathroom. Yaz walked back into the room and Mara and her attendants left. There were only the tailors and the two Time Lords still in the room to appraise her.

Yaz fidgeted awkwardly with the edge of her shift. Astrid smiled and ran forward to pull Yaz deeper into the room. Piled on the bed was the beginnings of the dress, though Yaz knew it contained many pieces.

"Oh, Miss Khan," Astrid said, "you look absolutely stunning!"

"Thanks." Yaz glanced down at the floor. Seeing the dress was too real, it looked too much like it could be a part of her life. Yaz tried to distance herself from it, to take herself into another mental reality and pretend the dress wasn't sitting there in front of her. It didn't work.

It was beautiful, of course. The fabric shimmered where the light caught it, soft and ephemeral. Astrid and the other tailors and attendants had to help attach and pin all the gossamer-thin layers together. Yaz shrugged on the first long under-dress over a clean shift; it was a light, creamy beige colour, meant to contrast with the vibrant, glowing red of the rest of the dress. 

Next were the layers of veils slid over to form the skirt. They were so finely woven Yaz couldn't feel them as they were tied to her waist by Astrid, and she lost count of them after the third was attached. Each was a different, matching shade of pink or red, shot through with silver and embroidered with elegant curls. 

Yaz let her hand gently stroke over the soft fabric. She wasn't sure what the dress was made of—something only spun on Gallifrey, no doubt—but she couldn't help but stare at it and the way it made the light swirl across its surface. Yaz bit her lip and forced herself to look away. It was wrong to admire something that only represented her imprisonment; it was a pretty dress, true, but it was going to trap her on Gallifrey. 

Guilt gnawed at the wall of Yaz's stomach. She closed her eyes and counted to ten; she needed to distance herself from what was about to happen, she needed to think of anything else. Her mind fell, as it always did when she was scared, back to her family. 

One of the tailors held up a long, cherry red over-dress. Slightly thicker than the veils—and nowhere near as translucent—it was draped over Yaz's shoulders and tied with a thick belt around her waist. It left a triangle of beige visible over her chest, which tapered to a point by the belt before expanding again to reveal the layers of gauze-y veils beneath. 

Silver birds and figures were embroidered on thick ribbon around the edge, depicting scenes Yaz was unfamiliar with, and the gown fell below her feet to puddle on the ground and create a small train behind her. Yaz watched with distaste as the belt—as wide as her hand and embroidered with so much silver she didn't realize it was fabric at first—was pinned with a large brooch to her back. It was enough to make Yaz sick.

What would her family think of her, if they could see her? What would they think of the dress worth more than a city, worth more than her family would earn in a lifetime? Would they be proud of how Yaz resisted at first, or disappointed by her compliance, even if she was just biding her time? Yaz sighed. They would feel as sick to the stomach as she did, no doubt. The dress was a gross display of Gallifrey's wealth at the expense of the colonies, where every bit of natural resources were being drained from the people to pay for the war. It was disgusting.

Last on were the hair coverings. Three layers of veils, each tinged with red and lined with silver, but otherwise translucent, were draped over Yaz's hair and attached to the comb. One was left to cover her face, while the other two fell and covered the back of her dress. They created a long, impossibly fine train. 

It had taken so long to get dressed that there wasn't any time for breakfast, so, once Yaz had slipped on her shoes (silky red flats, tied to her ankle with embroidered ribbon), her stomach was as light as the veil on her head. The attendants fussed over her, adjusting her hair and the dress, but eventually there was nothing left to be done. 

Yaz shook as, one by one, the tailors and most of the attendants fell away. Only the two Time Lords were left to lead her out of the room, where four guards joined them. There was a gasp from behind her and Yaz glanced back to see Astrid, who gave her a small smile. She didn't return it.

The guards and Time Lord attendants flanking Yaz's side left her unable to see much as she was led through the palace. Yaz was again surprised at how light the many-layered dress was, it barely touched her skin, it seemed to float above it. A small servant child held up the end of her train, which only made Yaz feel more guilty. 

She was led to a door, which, when opened, revealed a large litter, easily as big as Graham's cart. It was a shallow red and silver box, painted with the same scenes as the wedding dress, and there were two ornate silver poles attached to each side. Three chairs sat in the middle of the box, shaded by red curtains, and one of them was slightly elevated. The Time Lords ushered Yaz up the steps and into the litter.

"In the middle," one of them said. Her voice was harsh and left no room for argument.

Yaz nodded and did as the Time Lord said. She watched as four burly looking servants stood by each of the poles. The litter wobbled and Yaz almost went flying as they lifted it up and began to walk forwards.

Nerves fluttered within her as they began the procession. Yaz had no idea what she was doing. In front of the litter musicians played drums and strange metallic instruments Yaz had never seen before. They were dressed to match her, though not as finely, and the beat of the drums set the pace for the rest of the procession.

The twin suns shone directly overhead and the scent of fresh flowers flooded the air as white and red petals were thrown over the ground as confetti. The wide streets were crowded at each side with people who struggled to get a view. They were all holding blue banners and waving blue flags, a smile on each of their faces. Yaz wondered if they knew how much their celebration was costing her.

The crowd of cheering citizens all blended into one unidentifiable blob. A gentle breeze stirred the layers of Yaz's dress, which shimmered under the burnt orange sky. She took a deep breath. Panic threatened to overtake her with every step the procession took, with each beat of the drums and with each small child held up by their parents to get a better look at the spectacle. Yaz felt like an animal in a cage, all prettied up and held captive behind glass for people to gawk at.

Of course, it wasn't their fault. The citizens below her probably had no idea what was happening to Yaz, or how life was in the colonies. They couldn't help her, anyway. 

Yaz let her gaze drift over the crowd. Right at the back, only barely visible, she noticed a few people dressed in black. Their faces were somber and their heads unusually bare; in their hands were candles. The flames weren't obvious compared to the bright sunlight, but Yaz felt herself drawn to the silent watchers dotted throughout the crowd. They were mourners, or protesters, though what they were mourning she did not know.

A sharp pain exploded in Yaz's arm. She turned around to look at the Time Lord who had pinched her. 

"Smile," the attendant said. Her face was drawn into a harsh glare.

Yaz winced and rubbed her arm. She forced her lips to stretch out into an empty smile. When she turned to give a little wave to the crowd, the Time Lord relaxed. Yaz was starting to get the impression that Time Lords were a fan of corporal punishment.

The journey through the city was stretched out through the poorer, merchant areas and then through the more genteel houses. Despite the long route, Yaz noticed that they never passed through the poorest regions of the city, the parts she had walked during her first escape attempt. It made sense, she supposed; there was no way the procession and all those people could fit in the more narrow, winding streets.

Eventually, after many hours sat in the litter, waving and smiling, the procession came to a halt back at the palace. They'd made a giant loop around the city just to show Yaz off, and now the litter was being slowly lowered in front of an entrance Yaz hadn't been through before. She felt her feet tingle as she stood up; they were full of pins and needles from being still for so long.

The main entrance to the palace was big; two double doors taller than most buildings, made out of the rosy-silver metal that dominated the technology and architecture of Gallifrey. A guard placed his hand on a pad on the wall and the doors opened.

Inside was a large, circular hall filled to the brim with well dressed guests. Yaz's hands shook as she was led out of the litter. The crowd's cheers reached a crescendo and she gulped. It was time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, there we are! I was a bit worried this wouldn’t get done in time for my regular update, but luckily I managed. Many thanks to the wonderful @ActuallyMe for beta-ing. My writing wouldn’t be half as good without them. 
> 
> For those interested, I based most of the world building in this chapter (and the upcoming wedding scene) on certain scenes of DW (like when River and the 11th Doctor marry), photos of Gallifrey and Time Lords from the classic series (for some of the aesthetics), and then my very basic knowledge of Tudor society provided the basis for the procession.
> 
> Honestly, I’m both intimidated and excited by the lack of word building for Gallifrey in Doctor Who—it has such a strong aesthetic, but very little is concrete. Anyway, you’ll probably see more of what I imagine for Gallifrey as the chapters go on. Hopefully it’s as interesting to you as it is to me. 
> 
> May you all have a lovely day :)


	14. Matrimony

When the doors closed behind Yaz, the hall was silent. Every step she took rang out across the marble floor, each breath seemed to fill the room. The two attending Time Lords walked with her;, each half a step behind. The same small child that had carried her train before was behind her again, lifting the translucent veils off the floor.

Yaz gulped. The room was massive, bigger than she could have imagined. It was circular, with tall rose-silver pillars holding up the domed ceiling. Around the sides were balconies stretching upwards in tiers in the shape of an amphitheater, so that you could only see the full scale of the hall when you were at the centre of it. 

Each balcony was full of Time Lords, standing there in their formal red and gold robes. They stared at Yaz in anticipation, their eyes as cold as they were interested. She looked down nervously; there must have been thousands of people in the hall.

In the space between each tier of balconies were screens as tall as Yaz was. They showed the event from every angle, catching all of Yaz's nervous twitching and the many faces of the people watching. Yaz started when she made eye contact with herself on one of the screens—she’d never seen anything like it before. It was unnerving; it was humiliating. Yaz wondered how many people this was being broadcast to.

Two posts rested in the middle of the flat stage at the centre of the hall. One was barely ten centimetres off the ground, the other was more than a metre tall. Behind both was a great backless chair surrounded by golden Gallifreyan script in all directions. It had a bold, luminous look to it, like that of the rising sun.

The Time Lord next to Yaz—the one who'd pinched her—smiled brightly, the expression plastic-y. "Walk to the lesser podium and stand there until the Lord president arrives. Then you must kneel," she whispered.

Yaz nodded curtly. There was a battle between anger and fear raging inside her and she hadn't yet figured out which one would win. When the Time Lord looked at her she was filled with rage, but when Yaz looked out at the great hall she was full of a fear she'd known only once before. At least with the Dalek she'd been sure of what it would do to her. With the Time Lords her fate was uncertain.

Yaz walked from the wide doors to the stage. There was a wide, walled path to separate her from the lowest balconies on either side, but Yaz still felt the myriad of stares on her. They were as heavy as the dress was light; they were as gentle as a Time Lord’s fist.

Yaz put one foot in front of the other and took deep, shaky breaths. She wouldn't let her fear consume her, even as she neared the stage. It wasn't at all like she’d imagined it---but then again, how could she have imagined it? Time Lord weddings were not like those on Earth. Yaz didn't know what to expect.

After a series of long, agonizing seconds, Yaz reached the stage. She stepped onto the lowest podium and watched as the attendants and the servant child laid out her train and stepped away. Yaz had barely spoken to any of them—and when she had it'd been unpleasant—but when they left they took the last bit of safety with them. Yaz was truly alone.

Once she was on top of the stand—made of the same rose-silver metal that most of Gallifrey was made out of—there was a great fuss as all the Time Lords bowed their heads. A whisper spread through the crowd like wildfire and Yaz looked around to see what had changed.

At the far end of the room, barely visible, a figure approached. They, like Yaz, were flanked by two Time Lords, though they didn't have a train to be carried. Somewhere, music started; it was deep, rhythmic drumming which picked up Yaz's heart and lifted it right out of her chest. A whole orchestra might have been playing, but Yaz saw no musicians.

Yaz stared as the figure approached. It was, of course, the Doctor. She stood straighter than usual, her back oddly stiff. Draped around the Doctor's shoulders was a long blue tunic, open at the front like Yaz's dress, but with no belt. The collar was embroidered with gold Gallifreyan letters—to match the chair behind them—and a gold plate of armour covered most of the pale blue under-tunic.

Around the Doctor's head was a large gold headdress; it covered most of her shoulders and splayed out at the back of her head in the same way that the Gallifreyan letters splayed out around the chair behind. There was no doubt in Yaz's mind that the chair was a throne. In that moment, the Doctor looked like a king.

_A king? _Yaz thought, _No—a Lord President. _____

____The Doctor made eye contact with Yaz and gave her a tiny smile. Yaz scowled and looked away. When the Doctor reached the stage all covered in gold and royal blue she looked like some old forgotten god, the victor at the end of a mythologized battle. The Doctor was the incarnation of the old Earth legend of the Time Lord Victorious, and Yaz hated it._ _ _ _

____When the Doctor reached the podium Yaz dropped to her knees and folded her hands in her lap. There was a small stair at the side so the Doctor could step gracefully onto the podium, where she stood in all her supposed regal glory. From her position, Yaz's head was at the same height as the Doctor's knees, and she became even more aware of the gaping power difference between them._ _ _ _

____The cold metal of the platform hurt Yaz's knees as she knelt, her head bowed. From the corner of her eye, Yaz could just about see the Doctor's attendants move from behind her to either side of the podium. The steady beat of the drums grew quicker and quicker until it reached a crescendo and flat lined, leaving the hall devoid of any sound. The beat of Yaz's heart filled the silence; it beat so hard Yaz briefly wondered if she was having a heart attack. The thought didn't worry her._ _ _ _

____The two attendants were dressed nearly as formally as the Doctor, though they wore a more dull shade of blue and the fabric of their robes wasn't made of the same gauze-y veils as the Doctor's and Yaz's. The attendants turned to greet the crowd at either side of the podiums._ _ _ _

____"E'ala," said the first—or that's what it sounded like to Yaz—and the crowd mirrored the statement back at them. Yaz didn't know what the word meant, but she guessed it meant 'hello' or 'welcome', or something similar._ _ _ _

____The Time Lords began to speak rhythmically in Gallifreyan, as though reciting a poem or a well-known prayer, and one turned back to the Doctor. He held up a shallow golden dish first to the crowd and then to the Doctor, who nodded and said something when the attendant paused for breath. Yaz couldn't see what was in the dish from where she was knelt._ _ _ _

____The attendant stuck his thumb in the dish and, when he pulled it out, it was covered in a syrupy oil. It was gold and shimmered slightly as the attendant pressed his thumb against the Doctor's forehead and the oil caught the light. Yaz shifted slightly to get a better look at what was happening but it was hard to while she knelt and kept her head bowed._ _ _ _

____Then, the dish was handed to the Doctor. She took it solemnly and held it up again to the crowd, to whom she posed a question in Gallifreyan. Whatever it was the Doctor had asked, the crowd responded with certainty, and, with that, the Doctor turned to Yaz._ _ _ _

____Yaz froze. She didn't know what to do. She couldn't even understand what they were saying._ _ _ _

____The Doctor hooked her index finger under Yaz's chin and gently lifted up her face. Yaz looked up, into the Doctor's eyes, and saw a look she couldn't understand there. If it was anyone else, she would have called it sorrow._ _ _ _

____Yaz's breath hitched. The Doctor dipped the edge of her thumb into the oil and then touched it gently to Yaz's forehead. The oil was warm against her skin, and a tiny bit dripped into the space between Yaz's eyebrows. The Doctor's touch was feather light as she let go of Yaz's face and handed the glimmering dish of oil back to the attendant._ _ _ _

____More words were said, but not any that Yaz could understand. The Doctor still faced her, still stood above her, and Yaz still knelt. Something felt different, though—Yaz didn't understand what the oil was meant to signify, but she could feel the change in the room. It was as though the Doctor had marked her. Yaz wanted to puke._ _ _ _

____The other attendant—the one without the oil—began to speak. His Gallifreyan was just as rhythmic, and he held up a long piece of purple cloth to the crowd. When he was satisfied they'd all seen the cloth, he lowered it and picked up Yaz's right hand._ _ _ _

____Yaz wanted to yank her hand away but she couldn't move; she was frozen. Her wrist went limp as the attendant lifted it gingerly between his too-smooth fingers. The attendant took the cloth—which was about half the breadth of Yaz's hand and embroidered with swirls in a deeper shade of purple—and wrapped it around her forearm. It was bound tight around Yaz's arm, and then her wrist, and then, finally, her hand. The material was silky, like ribbon, but it suffocated Yaz's skin. The attendant pulled hard and the fabric tightened._ _ _ _

____More words were said—a hymn, a prayer, or a political treatise, it didn't matter to Yaz—and the attendant placed his hand on Yaz's shoulder. He pushed her down so that instead of kneeling she was bowing, her nose only an inch from the floor. Her hand was still bound in the air; facing the Doctor._ _ _ _

____Yaz couldn't see what happened next but she could guess. The fabric tightened as it was wrapped around the Doctor's wrist, tying them together—she was bound, both symbolically and physically, to the Doctor. The Doctor's fingers were ghost-soft against Yaz's skin._ _ _ _

____The attendant gripped their joined hands and lifted them up in the air. The crowd began to chant—it seemed they had more to do with the ceremony than Yaz did—as their hands were lifted up a second time and then a third. On the third time, the attendant dropped their hands back down and pulled the fabric away._ _ _ _

____The fabric cut into Yaz's skin as it was pulled away; Yaz had to bite her lip to keep from crying out. The fabric dropped to the floor in a long, serpentine coil and the Doctor squeezed Yaz's hand. Her eyes flicked up to meet the Doctor's. They remained frozen like that for a long moment—Yaz on her knees, nose to the floor, the Doctor stood above her—as though they were stone statues._ _ _ _

____Then the Doctor said something to the audience and grasped Yaz's forearm. She pulled her up in one swift movement, grabbing Yaz's other arm as she did so. The crowd cheered as Yaz wobbled precariously next to the Doctor and nearly stumbled into her._ _ _ _

____"Woah, there," the Doctor said as she caught Yaz by the forearms. She steadied Yaz and smiled as Yaz found her feet. She didn't drop their hands._ _ _ _

____Yaz glared at the Doctor but she pretended not to notice. Around them the crowd cheered and the myriad of screens showed their faces from every angle. Yaz blinked away tears. The ceremony—the spectacle—was enough to make her sick. She felt more vulnerable than ever before, more scared and alone. Even as the Doctor stood next to her, Yaz knew that she was entirely by herself._ _ _ _

____A warm bead of oil dripped down the side of Yaz's face and obscured the single angry tear that wobbled there. Yaz couldn't reach up to wipe either away—she could barely breathe, she felt so alone—so she tried not to think of the marked way she felt. It was clear to anyone watching where the balance of power sat, and Yaz had been quite literally bound to the Doctor._ _ _ _

____She looked down at their hands, which were covered in purple stripes from the fabric. Yaz wondered if that was intentional, if it was yet another way to symbolize her new subservience, but she couldn't dwell on it. As soon as she was alone, Yaz knew, she would take water and soap to her arms and scrub until the marks were gone, even if it meant taking half her skin with it._ _ _ _

____Yaz shook ever so slightly; fear blossomed in the nerves under her skin. A foreign finger gently touched the side of her hand and Yaz looked up. The Doctor gave her a small, sad smile._ _ _ _

____"You okay?" she asked._ _ _ _

____Yaz raised her eyebrow. She didn't trust herself to speak with so many unseen cameras. The Doctor got her message, though, and gently squeezed her arm._ _ _ _

____"The ceremony's over," she said, "just the party left, now."_ _ _ _

____"What's going to happen?" Yaz whispered. She struggled to keep the fear out of her voice._ _ _ _

____"You'll leave in a minute, with plenty o' fanfare. Nothing more for you to do here—unless you want to stay, that is..."_ _ _ _

____"Why would I want to stay?"_ _ _ _

____The Doctor gave a tiny, barely visible shrug. "Dunno. Just thought you should have a choice."_ _ _ _

____"Don't pretend you care anything about choice," Yaz said. Her voice was half laugh and half hiss._ _ _ _

____The Doctor frowned and Yaz watched her warily. In that moment she was suddenly very aware of the amount of power the Doctor had over her life. Yaz waited for the Doctor to speak, to shout or hit her like the other Time Lord had, but she never did. Instead, the Doctor held her hand as they stepped off the podiums._ _ _ _

____That was apparently it—the ceremony was done. Yaz couldn't wrap her head around it, even as she left. They were married._ _ _ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Good morning!   
> Here’s the next chapter—inspirations include the hand-binding in The Wedding of River Song, my love of Roman architecture, and Olympic style podiums. I’ve been waiting to write this scene since I began this fic, so I hope I did it justice and that you enjoyed it. Have a lovely day!


	15. The Lord President’s rooms

Yaz had been led out of the great hall to stand on the street in triumph, her purple stained arm held up for all to see. The crowd had cheered so loud that when the attendant told her to smile for the second time, Yaz hadn't heard her. She knew what to do anyway. 

Then, Yaz was led back inside and to a new set of rooms, a suite vastly different to the rooms she'd been trapped in for days before. The attendants left her alone, with only the knowledge of the guards outside to keep her company. Yaz was relieved at first—she didn't want to talk with anybody, to have to pretend anymore—but soon she realized that without anyone there to witness, the Doctor could do whatever she liked. Yaz was tired of being afraid.

The room was quiet—so quiet that the silence took life and became a companion in the wide, open drawing room. It was the first of the new set of rooms which Yaz had yet to explore. The door had opened and she'd been ushered inside, and then she'd collapsed onto a chair. Yaz couldn't be bothered to admire yet another display of Time Lord wealth.

The chair, at least, was comfortable—far more comfortable than the sturdy wooden ones her sister had helped carve back home. It was gilded and padded with a soft blue cushion, very unlike the Time Lord's usual style. Yaz wondered for a moment if the chair was from Earth, but she dismissed the thought. There was no way the Time Lords would decorate their Lord President's rooms with _Earth _furniture.__

__Yaz sighed. The wait stretched on and on. Hanging on the wall across from her was a long wooden clock, made of so many dials and hands it was hard to make sense of it at all. What Yaz could tell, however, was that it'd been hours since the wedding. Since _her _wedding.___ _

____Yaz tried not to think about it. She pushed it to the back of her mind and focused instead on the room around her; it was big and far longer than it was wide, with polished doors on every wall. White with blue and gold gilding was painted over the original rose-silver metal of the walls and on the far side of the room was a set of floor to ceiling windows that led to an expansive balcony. The curtains were blue, as usual, and bookshelves lined half the room._ _ _ _

____In one corner was a beautiful mahogany desk and in the other, where Yaz sat, was a screen with a fireplace playing. It radiated warmth and light onto all the chairs and couches arranged artfully around it. There was even a gilded love-seat._ _ _ _

____Yaz placed her chin miserably on the arm of her chair. There was too much gold and satin and expensive looking books everywhere. It was beautiful, of course, but what was the point of a golden cage? Yaz was no less trapped here than the prisoners in the vault she'd found under the palace. The only difference was that those prisoners didn't have to pretend they were free._ _ _ _

____The windows, at least, gave Yaz some hope. She could see the honeyed sky from them as the twin suns set overhead—perhaps they would give her another chance at escape. As it was, Yaz didn't want to risk it. The sound of happy citizens—still celebrating the wedding, of course—floated in from the street. Yaz was sure to be spotted if she tried anything right then._ _ _ _

____As the hours stretched by, Yaz grew more and more nervous. Night flooded the room with darkness, leaving only the light of the fire-screen, and still she waited. It was hard to tell if the Doctor's late arrival was good or bad._ _ _ _

____Eventually, though, the door opened and the Doctor stepped in. Her headdress was gone—through the robes remained—and her shoulders sagged. Yaz had never seen the Doctor look so tired. She turned to say something to the guards, and then the door clicked shut behind her._ _ _ _

____Yaz tensed._ _ _ _

____"Hey, Yasmin," the Doctor said. It was more of a whisper, really. She crossed the room so that she was standing next to Yaz, who gripped the arm of her chair so tight her knuckles went white._ _ _ _

____"Hello," said Yaz._ _ _ _

____"How're you doing?"_ _ _ _

____Yaz stood to reach the Doctor's eye level and answered with a question of her own. "What are you going to do with me?"_ _ _ _

____The Doctor gave her a sad look. "I'm not going to do anything." There was a pause as the Doctor examined Yaz's face, her eyes soft. "You're scared," she said. It was a statement rather than a question._ _ _ _

____"Yeah. I am."_ _ _ _

____The Doctor raised a hand to Yaz's trembling face but stopped just short of touching her when Yaz flinched away. "I promise I won't hurt you," the Doctor said. She took Yaz's hand, still striped with purple dye from the ceremony, and clasped it between both of her own._ _ _ _

____Yaz stared at her. She didn't understand—what was the point of a wife if the Doctor didn't get anything out of it? Why go to all the bother of conscription and a grand ceremony if Yaz, apparently, had some free will? It didn't make sense; Yaz was sure she was missing something._ _ _ _

____"Pardon me if I don't believe everything you say, Lord President," Yaz said. She was aiming for defiance but her voice wavered too much for that._ _ _ _

____The Doctor shrugged. "Don't blame you," she said, "but I do mean it."_ _ _ _

____Yaz didn't reply. The Doctor looked her up and down with a frown. "You look tired, Yasmin, you should get some rest. The bedroom is through there." She gestured to the door behind Yaz._ _ _ _

____Yaz hummed and turned away, her cheeks burning. She didn't need the Doctor, of all people, to comment on her well being. It was none of her business._ _ _ _

____"Right, well, if you need me I'll be in here, reading," the Doctor said, "don't worry about bothering me or anything. Sleep well."_ _ _ _

____"Right."_ _ _ _

____Yaz pressed her hand against the door and felt a slight buzz as it registered her hand print and sprung open. Every time she saw an example of Time Lord technology it took her by surprise—why couldn't they just use a door handle like everyone else? Yaz stepped into the room and shut the door behind her. If only it was that easy to shut the Doctor out of her life._ _ _ _

____The room, while smaller than the parlour, was still far bigger than what Yaz was used to back home. She wasn't sure she'd ever get used to the grandiose style of everything in the palace, and she hoped she'd never get the opportunity. Yaz began to unpin the veils over her head as she looked around the room._ _ _ _

____In the centre was a large four poster bed with soft blue covers and curtains. The walls were covered in paintings as tall as Yaz, all of them with that strange 3-D effect to them that Time Lord art seemed to favour. They showed portraits of what Yaz guessed were past Lord Presidents and their wives, all dressed formally and shown with their hands bound by purple fabric. Yaz scratched at the mark left on her skin from the ceremony. She couldn't wait to wash it off._ _ _ _

____A gilded desk and several sets of drawers lined the edges of the room, but it was mostly kept clear to emphasize the spaciousness of it. Yaz noticed a few books on the nightstand and wondered who had placed them in what she figured was meant to be her room—the wardrobe, when she checked, was full of the clothes designed for her by the tailors._ _ _ _

____It took a long time for Yaz to finally remove all the many layers of the wedding dress, careful not to rip any of the delicate fabric. It was easier to take off than put on, at least, and eventually she found herself in a simple shift. Yaz yawned. Adrenaline and the long, hard day had tired her out more than she thought._ _ _ _

____The quiet ache of exhaustion seeped through her joints like water. Yaz laid back against the bed and closed her eyes. She tossed and sighed. It was too soft, too flouncy and high from the ground for her to be comfortable. Back at home, Yaz slept on hay mats on the floor—simple and practical, it was far better than the bed that seemed to swallow her whole. Even the one in the previous room they’d given her had been less flouncy than this._ _ _ _

____After a few more minutes of tossing and turning, Yaz lifted herself from the bed and crawled onto the floor. She pulled the fabric of her wedding dress from the chair she'd hung it on and balled it up into a pillow beneath her head. When that was done, Yaz could finally sleep._ _ _ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to the wonderful @ActuallyMe for looking over this (and every) chapter. 
> 
> I’m thinking about putting this story on hiatus in a few weeks; I’ve written ahead a bit but a combination of writer’s block and looming deadlines has stripped the fun from this project. I’ll start writing again in a month or two, so don’t worry about me abandoning it, and I’ll keep posting for the next few weeks. I just thought I should give a fair warning.


	16. Dreams do haunt

_The sky was blue, and that was odd, though Yaz couldn't remember the reason why. She stood in the middle of a field, hair tied back, in her usual practical clothes, and watched a butterfly drift gently by on the breeze. The corn swayed by her waist and Yaz let her fingers brush past it._

_Despite the calm, idyllic scene before her, Yaz felt uneasy. She was rooted to the spot, unwilling to move unless the view somehow buckled away from her and left her wherever she was meant to be. A flash of blonde through the corn sent a flash of relief through Yaz, though she couldn't say why._

_Someone called for her in the distance. "Yaz, come on, come home!" It was Sonya, calling her in for dinner. It must have been._

_Yaz turned to follow the voice, but as her foot touched the ground in front of her, the scene changed. Sonya's voice became flat and tinny. It was one Yaz recognized all too well when it called out for her extermination—the Dalek._

_She was in the market place now, stalls tipped over and the streets in carnage. Yaz curled into a ball as the voice got closer and closer. Beside her, she could hear the screams of a child. The little girl cried and cried, but there was nothing Yaz could do. This wasn't how it went, it wasn't how Yaz remembered it—where was the Doctor?_

_The Dalek called out one last time as the little girl screamed, and Yaz screamed with her._

_The scene changed again. She was in her room, the first room the Time Lords had taken her too when she'd been chosen. The walls were smaller, though, and oppressive. They seemed to leer at her, bare and cage-like, growing ever smaller._

_Yaz ran to the door and threw it open. In front of her was the long corridor of the vault, condensed into only a few steps. Yaz's vision changed as she ran out of the prison-room and into the corridor; nothing made sense, nothing was permanent. Everything warped and changed around her, shifting whenever she looked too hard at something._

_In front of her, though, was the vault, and the vault did not change. It called to Yaz. It was enticing, it was ominous and secretive and just waiting to be opened. Yaz reached her hand out to it. ___

__***_ _

__Yaz snapped awake. She was cold and tired, despite the soft mattress beneath her. The edge of the curtains drawn at the other end of the room glowed with soft early morning light. Yaz was shaking._ _

__Slowly, she pushed herself out of bed and looked around. She was in a bedroom in the Doctor's chambers, the one she'd gone to sleep in. Laid on the floor was the dress she'd used in place of a bed, and Yaz couldn't help but wonder why she was no longer on the floor with it—perhaps she was a secret sleepwalker._ _

__The rooms were utterly silent as Yaz walked through them, her finger trailing across the smooth wooden and metal surfaces. Everything was soft and polished, a stark contrast to the rough earth and work she'd lived in before. Even Yaz's hands weren't soft enough to touch such finely made objects—she was a strange, out of place thing among the shelves of collected luxuries. Yaz felt a pang of homesickness. She could never belong on Gallifrey, not when she was just as much a collected object as the books in the Doctor's study._ _

__Yaz quietly searched each room until she was sure no one else was there—the Doctor was gone, and Yaz was alone. Her eyes flickered over to the balcony, where the rail only reached her waist. It would be easy to climb over, if Yaz could find a time when there wouldn't be anyone else around. The gears in Yaz's head began to turn._ _

__As she planned out her next escape attempt, Yaz was reminded, sharply, of her stomach. It was completely empty, and it was a struggle for Yaz to remember the last time she ate. For all the Time Lord's fussing, apparently no one cared whether she ate or not._ _

__Yaz grumbled to herself as she went back into the bedroom and picked out the most comfortable, simple dress she could find. It was a pale green, with a mint coloured sash. Yaz slid it over a fresh white undershirt and fastened the back by herself. She got the idea it was meant to be done by servants, but Yaz was in no way comfortable with that._ _

__When she'd found an ordinary enough pair of shoes—ordinary being made only of richly embroidered cotton, not silk—and cleaned herself up a bit, Yaz was ready to find the kitchens._ _

__When she exited the rooms, it took a moment for the guards to realize who she was. Despite how uncomfortable the richly designed, expensive clothes made Yaz feel, she'd done a good job of downplaying it. With her hair tied back with a simple square of cloth, like it usually was, and none of those veil thingies, Yaz looked almost ordinary. Almost._ _

__"Oh, my lady, I didn't realize it was you," said the first guard. He straightened up and saluted her._ _

__"Don't worry about it," said Yaz._ _

__"Are you to leave your rooms today?"_ _

__The question felt intrusive, but Yaz didn't have the energy to be snarky. "Yeah, I am. I'm popping down to the kitchens for breakfast."_ _

__Both guards winced. "Well, I'm not sure if—"_ _

__"Can't I even go down to the kitchens now?" Yaz demanded._ _

__"No, well, yes, I mean—"_ _

__Yaz turned on her heel and walked away. She had no idea where she was going, but soon enough the guards fell into step beside her. They talked a lot about who unusual it was, how they could just have food sent up, but Yaz tuned them both out. She was still far too shaken from her nightmare to care about some silly unspoken etiquette._ _

__The guards led Yaz through the maze that was the palace until they reached the main kitchen. It was a wide, open room, filled with sleek machines in one corner and old fashioned wood fires in the other. Multi-coloured and funny smelling foods were wheeled on large trays from the connecting rooms, and everywhere were cooks and servants, running about._ _

__In the far corner, slicing the bread for what looked like sandwiches, was Graham._ _

__Yaz sprinted forwards and called out his name, her hunger forgotten. The guards shared panicked looks as everyone in the kitchen ground to a halt, their eyes focused on Yaz. They stood to attention, their expressions ranging from fear to boredom._ _

__"Are you okay, sweetheart?" Graham asked as he pulled Yaz into a hug._ _

__Tears welled up in her eyes, but Yaz held them back. She nodded into Graham's shoulder._ _

__"I heard what happened."_ _

__"Yeah. You know, when we went to sign up I didn't reckon I'd be anything other than a skivvy," Yaz laughed._ _

__"Nah, me neither. Seriously, though, are you alright?" Graham pulled away from her and took a long look at Yaz._ _

__

__"Not really."_ _

__

__"Okay," Graham nodded, "do you want me to distract you?"_ _

__

__"Yes, please."_ _

__Graham ducked away for a second to talk to a middle aged woman with a black apron tied around her waist. The woman glanced over at Yaz, who smiled tentatively, and nodded at Graham._ _

__"Right," said Graham as he reappeared by Yaz's side. "Cook says I can 'ave a few hours to cheer you up."_ _

__He grabbed an apple for each of them from a nearby bowl and led Yaz out of the kitchen. They walked from the inner palace to the courtyard, and from there they walked to a small set of barracks at the lower end, out of sight of the rest of the finely manicured lawns. The guards followed only one step behind them._ _

__The barracks were fairly small; they were meant for basic mechanical repairs for the guards stationed at the palace and for any Time Lords living there. Above ground, it was a simple metal structure with only one floor, but when Yaz stepped inside the sliding doors she realized it was actually several floors deep, each new floor being built below ground._ _

__The garage was long and not especially wide, with open plan workshops to separate all the individual mechanics from each other. The guts of several machines hung from the ceiling, and different tools and appliances lined the walls. Yaz was not at all unfamiliar with basic repairs—she’d helped out her parents with them all the time back home—but even she didn't recognize half the stuff that was hidden behind deadlock sealed glass cabinets._ _

__A figure at the very far end waved at them. Yaz squinted to see who it was, but before her eyes could focus Graham took her arm and led her towards the figure. With a start, Yaz realized it was Ryan._ _

__"Yaz?" Ryan took off his soldering goggles and lent against the frame of some sort of travelling pod._ _

__"Hi, Ryan."_ _

__He smiled. "Take a seat, take a seat. I didn't think you'd be down to visit us sorry lot, now that you're all up there with the grand old Time Lords."_ _

__Yaz frowned. "You heard about that, then?"_ _

__

__"I don't think there's a person on Gallifrey who didn't see the celebrations."_ _

__

__Something hissed and Ryan jumped back under the pod, his goggles on again. Yaz found a seat on top of a pile of old parts and Graham joined her there. When the hissing had stopped, Ryan spoke again._ _

__"So, yer the Lord President's wife, huh?" he said, his head still under the pod._ _

__"Apparently."_ _

__Ryan banged hard at something metal and Yaz had to cover her ears until it stopped. "What's she like?" he asked over the noise._ _

__Yaz sighed. What was the Doctor like? It was difficult to pin down; the Doctor was practically made of contradictions. "I don't really know," Yaz said after a moment, "when I first met her I liked her, but she's more shifty than I thought."_ _

__

__Graham hummed. "Does she treat you well?"_ _

__"When she's not ruining my escape plans," Yaz said, with just a hint of humour and cynicism._ _

__Graham's hand clapped over her mouth and she shushed her violently. "Yaz, you tried to escape?" he demanded in a low voice._ _

__Yaz waited for Graham to move his hand. "Yeah," she said, as if it was obvious._ _

__He glared. "Keep your voice down! No one can find out."_ _

__She shrugged. "What does it matter? It didn't work, anyway."_ _

__Ryan laughed. "We can see that."_ _

__"She found me both times."_ _

__"And she didn't turn you in?" Ryan stared at her._ _

__Yaz paused. She hadn't thought about it like that—sure, she'd been convinced at the time that the Doctor would rat her out and get her executed, but when it was clear that wasn't part of the Doctor's plan Yaz hadn't thought much about it. She scolded herself internally, annoyed that she'd been so trusting. There was definitely an ulterior motive to it._ _

__"...No," said Yaz._ _

__Both Ryan and Graham managed to have the exact same look of confusion and surprise on their face. They might not have been biologically related, but boy did they share the same mannerisms. "Most other Time Lords would've," said Graham thoughtfully, "wives are meant to be submissive."_ _

__Yaz twisted her face into an ugly grimace. Even the word 'wives' made her feel weird. How could Yaz, who'd been loud and playful and outgoing all her life, ever be expected to be submissive?_ _

__"Just because the Doctor didn't sign my death warrant doesn't mean I have to like her," Yaz said, "I think she's just doing it to manipulate me, anyway."_ _

__Even though she couldn't see him, Yaz knew that Ryan was shrugging from under the pod. Graham put his hands up in mock defense. "I don't disagree," he said._ _

__They sat and talked for a while, until Ryan had emerged from the pod and begun to work on something outside of it. Graham tossed Yaz an apple and she bit into it, suddenly remembering how hungry she'd been. It was gone in an instant, and they all laughed at the juice that dribbled down Yaz's chin._ _

__"Steady on there," said Graham. He patted Yaz on the back as she went red with embarrassment._ _

__She was just about to say anything when one of the guards—who stood just outside Ryan's workshop, in view of them—called out to her. Yaz frowned. She'd actually forgotten, just for a moment, what'd happened to her._ _

__"Looks like I'm needed." Yaz slid off the pile of engine parts. "It was nice to see you both—I’ll visit again soon, right?"_ _

__"Of course, anytime you need," said Ryan, "don't be a stranger."_ _

__Yaz left her two friends in the workshop and followed the guards back out. She had no idea why they needed to leave, but she didn't trust herself to ask any questions. Yaz still hadn't figured out how far their power extended over her, if at all, and that wasn't an area that could afford mistakes._ _

__As the guards led her back up to the Doctor's rooms, Yaz felt more and more uneasy. Her stomach twisted up like a wet rag being rung out and she kept her eyes down. When she'd been summoned before, it hadn't ended well—hopefully this time it’d be different._ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whoops! I lowkey forgot to post this yesterday. Honestly, time means nothing during lockdown. That being said, today is officially three months since I started Wild Geese, so the delay is serendipitous, I guess. Woo, anniversaries!   
> This is the last chapter I’ve written, and likely the last chapter I’ll write for a good while yet. I want to spend the next month or so working on other WIP’s and prepping a manuscript and some coursework, which will take up more brain power than I currently have. Besides, the stress.  
> I hope you all have a lovely day, and that I’m able to update again soon :)


	17. The Doctor's Study

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yaz is summoned to see the Doctor.

Just before they reached the Doctor's rooms, the guards made a turn and directed Yaz away from the limited familiarity she had. Instead, they led her up another flight of stairs, to a part of the palace which ran alongside the hall where she'd been married, though it wasn't visible from the long corridor they walked through. Yaz carefully watched each twist and turn that the guards took, noting the different doorways and staircases as they passed; the better her knowledge of the palace, the better her chances of escape.

They came to a stop outside a tall, sleek door, similar in style to the rest of the palace, though it had a slightly newer sheen than most of the ancient building. A guard was stationed outside, and, as they approached, she turned to knock on the door.

"Come in," the Doctor called, voice muffled by the wall.

The door swung open to reveal the room inside--large, larger than you'd expect for a room at the top of a palace, set into such a small part of the wall, but Yaz figured it was another one of those Time Lord 'bigger on the inside' things--and the guard gestured for her to go in. Yaz obliged, and the door swung shut with a clang. For a moment, there was no noise.

The room was tall, with a ceiling that went further than a human could see, and arches of various heights clustered around the windows, like the stone structures of old Earth cathedrals. Bookshelves lined each wall, and gold scales and chains hung from the ceiling, holding so many strange contraptions it was hard to count. Despite the space, every space was covered in clutter, whether it be books, whirring devices, paperwork, or even a few small, unknowable animals. A long blue carpet stretched from the doorway, through the round stone floor and up a set of shallow steps to the pinnacle of the room, where a grand desk was situated behind a few ornate, person sized machines.

"Ah, Yasmin, there you are." The Doctor appeared from somewhere behind the desk, her hair ruffled and a pair of goggles pushed up against her forehead.

"You sent for me."

"Yes, yes I did."

The Doctor beckoned her closer, and Yaz crossed the room to stand in front of her, her chin tipped out defiantly to show she wasn't completely obedient. 

"How are you doing?" the Doctor asked, voice soft. If Yaz didn't know better, she'd say there was care in her eyes.

"Terrible."

"Really?"

"Yes."

The Doctor frowned, her entire face scrunching up. "Is there anything I can do to help?"

"You could let me go back home."

"You know I can't do that," she sighed.

"I know."

The silence stretched out for a long, painful moment. One of the machines whirred behind them, counting out every individual second, and Yaz found herself counting along with it.

'Why did you want me?' she asked, when the silence became too much,

The Doctor smiled apologetically. 'There's a diplomatic thing--a dinner, with one of the province leaders. I was hoping you'd join me.' 

'Why?' 

'Why is there a dinner? Tradition, mostly. It's meant to be some great honour to host the Lord President. Makes the province leaders feel special. Helps me get them onside--' 

'No," Yaz interrupted, "why do you want me to go?' 

'Oh. Right." The Doctor nodded, understanding clear on her face. "You're meant to--part of you role, y'know? I wouldn't ask, but it's important; it'd be rude to turn up without you.'

Yaz bit her lip as she weighed up her options. On one hand, she really didn't want to go. Like, at all. On the other hand, she wasn't sure how much choice she had--the Doctor was trying to make it seem like she had options, but the tension in her hands as she fiddled with the screwdriver she was holding told a different tale. Besides, Yaz thought, wouldn't it be better to gain the Doctor's trust? If she was going to escape, then she needed the Doctor to be caught off guard, and if she didn't manage it, then their relationship had to be strong enough that the Doctor wouldn't immediately cart her off to prison. 

"Sure," said Yaz, surprising even herself.

"Really?"

"Yeah."

The Doctor sighed in relief. She clearly wasn't expecting that. 'Brilliant," she said, "we'll discuss it more closer to the time--I have to go now." The Doctor smiled and turned away. "Got an important... thing."

She slid the screwdriver into the pocket of her jacket and made her way over to the door. Yaz followed her, a frown on her face--she didn't like how vague the Doctor was suddenly being. What 'thing' did she need to do, and why couldn't she tell Yaz? If it was, like she suspected, because she was just the frail human wife, then she was not happy.

Nonetheless, Yaz filed her questions away for later, and followed the Doctor dutifully out of the office. Her questions could wait.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, it's been a hot minute, hasn't it?  
> Have to say, I did not think my hiatus would be this long. It isn't over, either, but I thought I'd write a couple of chapters for @ActuallyMe for Christmas, so I'm posting this. It's quite short, but the next chapter's a bit longer, and that's going up tomorrow. Merry Christmas, and I 2021 treats everyone a bit better.  
> Merry Christmas @ActuallyMe, I hope you enjoy.  
> B-


	18. The Escape;  Part 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yaz tries to escape and is electrocuted. RIP.

Later that night, when the twin suns had set beneath the tall buildings of the Capitol, Yaz found herself sat by the corner of her bed. She'd come up with another escape plan--a simple one, albeit, but not one that was impossible. All she needed to do was wait for the right opportunity. 

She'd tied her dress and veil together to form a rope, but that hadn't been long enough, so she grabbed the bed sheets and, when that was still too short, a table cloth was added. What laid in front of her now was a long, multicoloured rope, four or five times her own height. Hopefully, it would take her weight.

Carefully, Yaz lifted the lithe thing out of the room and into the main room. She looked around for something suitable and, eventually, her eye fell on the heavy wooden dining table. Perfect. 

Yaz crouched down by the table leg--which was easily as thick as her thigh--and looped the strongest end of the rope around it. The fabric tightened around it quickly, but she knew it was strong; it was Najia who taught her how to bind properly, after all. 

The hush of night was stronger now, darkness pressing in from the open window. A slew of faint city noises dripped in, far enough away that Yaz didn't worry about them. She wound the rope around her left hand and walked towards the balcony, feeding the fabric through her palm. The balcony doors were open, and a light, warm breeze settled against Yaz's skin as she left the air conditioned front room and stood by the railing. It was beautifully intricate, and it didn't take long for Yaz to throw the end of the rope over the side and climb up the spokes.

She lifted her shaking foot onto the ledge and pushed herself up. Candlelight flickered below, bright against the inky dark, and Yaz felt her heart beat painfully against her throat. She'd never gotten the opportunity to find out she was scared of heights before.

Dressed in just her shift and with her hair tied back but missing the veil, Yaz was at least confident that this time she'd blend in with the other humans. Maybe it would work. Maybe she'd climb all the way down the wall without being caught, and then she'd disappear.

The ledge suddenly seemed very large and very slippery, despite the fact that it was dry. Yaz wobbled precariously, convinced she was going to fall, as her spine arched and her arm spun around, trying to restore her balance. The rope was still in her hand, wide and tangible, connected to the table and holding firm. All she had to do was climb over the ledge and lean back. Let gravity do the work.

Yaz gripped the loop hard, her knuckles turning white, and turned around. Slowly, she shifted her weight from the ledge to the rope, allowing it to hold her, and took a step backwards. The rope tightened, no longer slack, and her foot found purchase against the marble. She was on her way.

Yaz grinned, hands still trembling, as she took another step. Her feet were against the wall while she clung to the rope, still looped around her left hand to stop her from falling. She fed a bit more through the loop and took another step.

Something buzzed in her ear. The air around her seemed suddenly alive, with points of movement in the dark, as though the sky were made of little black worms. They wriggled around her as the static grew, like the interference on the old telescreen she'd seen in the market once, and her skin began to feel hot and tingly, as though someone was pressing pins against her.

Her vision was now completely swarmed by grey and black movement, and a few tiny points of light. Her head spun and her tongue grew dry and heavy, as heavy as her weight seemed to be. Yaz's arms slacked, suddenly limp, and she cried out as something hot and sore touched her back. It burnt all along her spine, a searing bolt of electricity, and her knees buckled. She swung against the side of the building and hung there, flat against the wall.

In the distance, someone cried her name.

There was a sharp tug on the rope and Yaz groaned. Her head was too full of static to think clearly, even as she was being lifted up; nausea bubbled up her throat and Yaz fought the urge to puke. What was happening to her?

Before she knew it, a pair of strong hands were gripping her elbows, and she'd been foisted back over the edge of the balcony and into the marble floor.

"What're you doing, Yasmin?" The Doctor cried. "You could have died!"

Yaz spluttered on the ground, her head pounding. The Doctor knelt by her, checking her vital signs. Yaz's vision was still swarmed, but now that she was lying down began to clear.

She coughed, fighting back the bile that threatened to creep back up her throat. "I was trying to escape," she said.

"Well, you can't do it that way--there's a forcefield all around the palace, it'll fry anyone who gets near," said the Doctor. Yaz gave her a disbelieving look.

"It's true! Honestly, it's a miracle you stayed close enough to the wall that you didn't get cooked--any closer to the forcefield and you would've been boiled alive." The Doctor stood, brushing her hands against her trousers, and ran back into her quarters. She reappeared after a moment with a glass of water, which she handed to Yaz. 

"Look, I know you don't trust me, but I promise I'm telling the truth." The Doctor pressed her hand against Yaz's forehead. "I won't ever lie to you." 

Yaz frowned. "I really can't climb out the window?"

"No, you can't."

There was a long pause as they watched each other, unsure of what to say next. "Why did you stop me?" Yaz asked.

"Because, shockingly, I don't want you to die." The Doctor frowned.

"I've lost count of how many times you saved me."

The Doctor's laugh was tired. "Yeah, well, it's kinda my job at the moment, ain't it?"

The bitterness in her voice made Yaz flinch. The static was now cleared almost entirely from her eyes. All that was left was a pounding headache, and the sore from being stung. She shrugged, part of her wanting to apologise while the other half wanted to shout.

"Do you blame me?" Yaz asked, her voice small but defiant. 

The Doctor sighed. "No. I probably woulda' done runner if I were you. Probably woulda' done much more--you're a bit more practical than me, I guess. I step on people's toes a lot more."

"I can see that." 

"Hey!"

Yaz laid back again, pressing her head against the cool marble floor. "You said you won't lie to me," she said, but the rise of her voice at the end made it sound more like a question. 

"I won't," the Doctor promised.

"Then can I ask you a question?"

"Sure." 

There was a lot to ask, in all truth, but Yaz didn't want to push her luck. She wouldn't waste her questions--or what limited patience the Lord President had for answering them--on anything emotional, or anything she could ask Ryan. Instead, she focused on the thing that'd been bugging her since the second escape attempt--the topic that, even now, with her expanding knowledge of Gallifrey and its customs, left her shivering and confused, like a naive child. 

"What was in the vault?" she asked. "The one at the end of the corridor the last time I tried to escape?"

The Doctor smiled, harsh, tired lines forming around her eyes. "Don't make me break my promise, Yasmin," she said.

"What?"

"Don't make me lie to you."

Yaz turned away, angry and confused. What could be so important that she couldn't tell her own wife? The Doctor, for all her many, many flaws, had proven herself to be the sort of person who kept her promises--what could be so bad that she'd go against her one remaining principle?

"I can't make you do anything," Yaz said, scowling.

"No, no you can't." The Doctor stood back up, gesturing for Yaz to follow her. "Come on," she said, "I think you need to sleep--your head must be killing you. And I could do with a bit of shut eye myself."

Yaz pushed herself up from the ground, still wobbling, and stuck her hand out for balance. She leaned against the balcony, swearing internally.

"It's alright, I've got you," said the Doctor. She reached out for Yaz and guided her hand onto her arm. "I've got you."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here it is! The second part of my Christmas present to the wonderful @actuallyme. Hope you like it (it's a bit longer than the last chapter). I feel like this is an important one for the Doctor and Yaz's relationship. Happy holidays, my friend(s)!

**Author's Note:**

> Hi there! I plan to update this once a week or so (hopefully on a Monday) but this is my first time actually being reliable with a fic so sorry if that falls apart. I've written the first two chapters, though, so who knows. Anyway, I've drawn inspiration for the premise from Corona Australis -- a great fic that I highly recommend -- though I don't think mine will end up being very similar. I hope you are all staying safe with the virus and that you have a lovely day! B x


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